The Nightlands
by Oberon Sexton
Summary: Azor Ahai. The Prince who was Promised. The Stallion who mounts the world. Many different names for the same thing. AU: What if Rhaego had lived?
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.**

The night was alive with the sound of drunken laughter.

Vyctor sat down beside his employer and stared suspiciously at the honeyed piece of goat presented to him, its smell inviting a traitorous rumble from his stomach. A Meerense Slave girl began dancing in front of the fire and took his attention away from the dish, her lithe bronzed form slowly and sensuously moving in heavenly rhythm. The old Tyroshi sitting to the sellsword's left began drunkenly clapping his hands at the sight, honey and grease running down his many chins as he did.

Despite working for the old Tyroshi for over a year Vyctor still couldn't quite understand the man or his motives, least of all his actions of late. _Why does he still insist on these frivolities? He acts as if twenty of his best men hadn't just been killed._

Twenty men, all of them were friends and comrades to Vyctor during his time with the Tyroshi and now they all lay dead somewhere in the Dothrak Sea, no doubt being feasted upon by all manner of wild beasts.

The Tyroshi travellers had been on their way to Norvos to trade spices when they were first savaged upon by Dothraki raiders. They came during the dead of night, the sound of drums waking the Tyroshi as it grew closer and closer until finally riders came forth like a fierce wind and tore through the camp, cutting down a good ten men before they vanished into the darkness like wraiths.

They came again the next night, and the next, until there were only half a dozen men left to protect the old man and his cargo of spice. Part of Vyctor wanted to leave like a few of his compatriots had but some deep sense of duty, of loyalty, kept him beside the old man. He certainly held little love for the old fool but he couldn't leave the bastard to die alone in the middle of the nowhere either.

After a while the old man waved the girl off and brought out his treasure, his true cargo that he valued above all the spice in the world, a small cream and gold coloured stone that he would always stare at every night by the camp fire, much like he stared now. There was a tired look on the man's face as he vacantly caressed the scale like surface of the stone.

"Did I ever tell you how I got this thing Vyctor?" he asked lazily.

"No milord."

The old man laughed drunkenly at that. "Heh, it's a lovely tale…It was nearly twenty years ago now. I was just a simple merchant back then, making my usual trades about the nine Free Cities, and one day, against my better judgement I took a short cut that lead me close to the horselord's sea. I was young, foolish. We came across the most bizarre sight; about a dozen or so Dothraki, all old men and women, as well as on grizzled knight. What really surprised me was the girl…." He said trailing off as he looked down at the stone again.

"A girl milord?" prompted Vyctor.

"She was a pretty thing, looked like one of them Lyseni whores with silver hair and purple eyes. And the baby…Gods she looked like a child herself and she carried this screaming little thing in her arms. None of my crew wanted any of that horselord scum to slow us down so the girl suggested a trade; some horses and water for this beauty." He said gently tapping the stone. "A dragon's egg. Heh I got my very own dragon's egg for a few underfed horses and some skins of water!"

The old man began giggling like a madman at that and clutched onto the egg tighter, whilst Vyctor looked on impassively.

"But I know now, that some deals just aren't worth it. Some deals come back to bite you and that's exactly what's happened. My sins have found me out." He said as he suddenly rose to his feet, an audible crack coming from his joints as he walked over to the fire, looking into the flames with some tired sense of defeat.

Then he heard the drums.

Vyctor jumped to his feet and unsheathed his sword and quickly went about waking up all the other camp dwellers, barking orders at them to get on their feet and prepare for battle. He turned back to the old man to warn him but the Tyroshi merely brushed him off.

He stood shoulder to shoulder with his few men as they circled the small camp, the large fire casting all manner of treacherous shadows across the ground. Vyctor could feel a large bead of sweat roll down his face as he stood tense, ready for any charging riders whilst the drums beat louder and louder. And then they stopped.

Vyctor wasn't sure what was going on but before he could react he suddenly felt something hard hit him in the side which sent him off his feet. It took him a moment to realize that he had actually been hit by an arrow which had lodged itself right in his ribs.

He was vaguely aware of the screams of his comrades as they were also struck down by the hail of arrows that quickly pierced their bloodied forms to the ground. He could feel the dirt around him grow wet from the blood as he desperately tried to move only to lose strength as he felt the wound open slightly, leaving him stuck helplessly as the Dothraki walked into the camp and brought the old man over on his knees near the fire.

All was silent aside from the occasional curse of the foolish old man, but then he heard the sound of bells chiming. Tilting his head to the side slightly Vyctor found the source of the bells as he saw the horde's leader step forward, his footsteps crushing the dirt as he came.

He was an absolute mountain of a man with think knotted muscle and hands so large that they looked as if they could rip a man's head right from his shoulders, and his chest was a wall of scarred and taut muscle from battles long since fought. There was something different about this Dothraki; his skin was a much paler shade of copper than the rest and his face was clean shaven compared to his brethren, but what really struck Vyctor was his long braided hair: it was an otherworldly colour of silver, the kind that marked him as the blood of old Valyria.

The Horselord stood before the kneeling and beaten form of the old man, his purple eyes bearing down on the man with a look of utmost contempt. "I've come to take back what was stolen from Me." said the Khal in a deep, throaty voice that was distinct of any accent at all.

The old Tyroshi merely laughed and pointed to the bonfire behind them. "There's your egg ya mongrel bastard!"

The Khal casually walked over to the massive bonfire and silently put his hands into the flames, unflinchingly scooping out the warm egg and holding it out for all to see. Vyctor's eyes widened in horror as he saw that the horselord was unburnt from the flames and casually tucked the petrified stone underneath his arm as he knelt down to face the terrified old man. "You thought that could stop me? Fire cannot hurt a Dragon." And with that he gestured to the two men holding the Tyroshi, one of the men let go and gave the old man's neck a fierce twist.

Vyctor let out a gasp of fear at that and caught the attention of the Dothraki. The Khal stood up and walked over to the dying man, a look of pity crossing his unusual features. A dozen thoughts raced through Vyctor's head as he stared up at the giant. _I won't die like this, not here in the middle of nowhere. Gods this isn't how it's going to end._

The Khal swiftly brought his boot down and silenced all the man's thoughts.


	2. Prophecies

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: Big thanks to all those who followed, favorited and reviewed the story, it really means a lot.**

Rhaego stared at the hard orb sitting in his hand. His purple eyes scanned over every inch of the ancient rock as he slowly turned it about, it was so very old yet its age did not lessen its durability, in fact it was quite the contrary; the ages had only made the egg stronger._ Even in death the dragon does not fade _he mused to himself.

"Still playing with that thing?" came Jorah's voice as he entered Rhaego's tent, stirring the young Khal from his thoughts.

"Do you know how long it would take to turn this into stone?"

Jorah shrugged as he sat down on a chair beside Rhaego. "A very long time?"

"Yes a _very_ long time. This egg remained undamaged for hundreds of years and was rewarded for its patience by becoming stone." said Rhaego as he gave the egg one fleeting look before he placed it back inside a chest and turning to face the old knight. "What do you need Ser?"

The old bear smiled tiredly as he handed Rhaego a horn of mare's milk which the young Khal gratefully accepted. Mormont seemed to be trying to decide how to best proceed with whatever he was going to say next, a gesture which worried Rhaego as the Bear had never been afraid to speak his mind in front of him before.

"You have your prize. Why not return to Pentos, to your mother?" asked Jorah after a moment.

Rhaego took a mouthful from his horn of mare's milk and looked carefully at his old Bear. The man had been with Rhaego since he was a babe and was in all honesty the closest thing he ever had to a father and he was fairly sure that Mormont was in love with his mother, though he had never acted on it. _Is that why he wants us to go back, to see mother? _The thought made sense.

"This egg is one of three, Jorah. Three of the most valuable objects in the entire world and she sold them for a pittance for my sake. I'll not return to her until I have reclaimed them all." He said with a sense of finality.

"It took us three years just to find this one, we'll be spending the rest of our lives on this fool's errant." replied Jorah angrily.

Rhaego gave the old man an irate look before rising from his chair and grabbing a roll of paper from his desk and handed it to Jorah. "Our good friend in Pentos has told me of the locations of the other two eggs."

Jorah scanned the paper quickly before scrunching it up in anger. "We can't trust this Magister! He takes in your mother but allows you to go off on your own for three years! And now this piece of information, the man is deliberately trying to keep you away!"

Rhaego stared down at the older man, the young Khal less than half his age but already towering above him. He was beginning to grow irritated by the old bear's constant questioning of his judgement and wondered if perhaps he should just give him leave to return to his mother. _But then who would speak plainly to me? Who else would speak at me without reproach? _ All of his Bloodriders would gladly lay down their lives for him if need be, yet none of them knew how to think outside the box, not like Jorah with his Westerosi knowledge of war.

"I know where they are now Jorah; it'll only be a simple matter of retrieving them. Then we can all return to Pentos and things can be as just they were." He said in his most negotiating tone.

"Is this about the Prophecy?" asked Jorah suddenly.

Rhaego's whole body went stiff at that and he began clenching and unclenching his jaw. His purple eyes narrowed on the old man and he felt a deep rage overcome him and for a moment he considered breaking the other man's face but instead took a deep breath and walked over and poured himself another drink.

"I suggest you get some sleep Ser, we ride for the lamb men first thing in the morning." He said quietly without looking back at him.

* * *

They managed to reach a village of the lamb men by noon after they had set off earlier the following day, and Rhaego had to admit one of the few perks of having only a hundred men in his feeble Khalasar was that it made travel much quicker. _We may be small, but I would not trade one of my men for ten of any others…_

Most of the men riding with Rhaego were children of the few followers that had fled with his mother after his father had died and had grown up with him at Pentos. _I wonder, did my father ever have people he could trust with his life? _He asked himself, though somehow he doubted it. His bloodriders were more than sworn swords and whips; they were his _friends _and he felt it was just as much his responsibility to protect them as they did for him.

When they came within sight of the village Rhaego sent out a rider to alert the lamb men of their presence; he would give them the chance to pay homage to his horde or try and fight them, but given the village's size he didn't expect much difficulty. Part of him craved for a good fight, to have his blade taste blood once again but then the other part of him, the part that wasn't controlled by animalistic instinct, kept him in check as they waited for his scouts return.

He did not have to wait long as it turned out when the rider returned to them with a grin on his face and a sack of wine in his hand. "They will pay homage Blood of my blood, with food and water and women if we so wish it."

"You have done well Tommo." replied Rhaego before turning to his men from atop his red stallion. "We shall go forth and enjoy the gifts these lamb men have given us, but we cannot be burdened by crying women, fuck them if you must but leave them here. Is that understood?" he asked in the fierce voice he put on when he said something he knew his men wouldn't like.

They all murmured in agreement and with that Rhaego rode towards the village in a trotting pace as his men followed behind him. As he entered the tiny village he saw many of its inhabitants drop to the hands and knees before him as he rode forth into the centre of the village where many of the village chieftains stood along with a gracious amount of food and water, along with dozens of young women who were being presented like cattle at market. None of them would look him in the eye as he rode past and he felt a vague pang of pity at seeing how terrified they were. He banished the thought from his head immediately. _Life is full of struggles, a weight that makes us stronger._

Seeing his Khalasar behind him he dismounted from his great red steed and watched as his riders did likewise before he turned his attention to the village elders as they approached him. Each one of these spiritual leaders were short, near blind, old men with twisted backs and shaking limbs yet they approached Rhaego without even the slightest hint of fear.

"Greetings great Khal of Khals, mighty stallion who mounts the world." croaked one man as he smiled curiously at the tall copper lord who stood before him.

Rhaego almost flinched at the old man using the moniker that he had received before he had even been born but quickly put his feelings aside as stared down at the tiny man before him. "You have given my Khalasar a fair gift old man; in return you can keep this pile of twigs you call home intact."

Many of the old men bowed in submission at that but one of them suddenly reached out and grabbed the Khal's arm. "Tell me, when are the dragons coming? The Harpy stirs in the east and the Cold Ones rise in the West. The fire must return to the world!" shouted the old man as he desperately began shaking Rhaego until he suddenly grasped the small man around the throat and lifted him high in the air.

"Dragons and Harpies, what madness are you on about?" he asked as he watched the old man turn blue in the face.

"Please! Fontuya has lost his wits; he knows not what he says! Please show him mercy oh great Khal." begged another old man at his side.

Rhaego looked back at the old man as he struggled for air and felt his anger dissipate and gently released the man from his grasp, chiding himself for letting his temper get the better of him and pinched the ridge of his nose in irritation. "Go back to your homes before I decide that perhaps me and my men would be better off burning your village to the ground and taking your women for slaves."

The old men didn't need to be told twice and scurried off back into their huts whilst Rhaego and his men helped themselves to the tribute that had been laid out for them, eating some of the food and drinking some of the wine before packing the rest for later use while some of his men fucked the women right there out in the open as was the Dothraki way.

Rhaego however did not partake in his Khalasar's revelry and instead helped himself to a skin of wine and sat down in a shady spot and tried to make sense of the old man's words. His solitude was short lived however as Jorah sat down beside him and the Khal offered him the skin of wine which the bear knight happily took a mouthful of.

"It's been years since I've had anything other mare's milk. Tastes like piss compared to stuff I had back in Westeros but wine's wine." He explained with a hint of merriment in his voice.

"My Mother used to say that Dornish wine was the best." replied Rhaego distantly.

"Aye, the Dornish are a mad lot but they know how to make a fine wine." laughed Jorah before handing the skin back to Rhaego.

The young Khal briefly remembered what his mother had told him as a child, of his brave uncle Rhaegar who had been married to a princess of Dorne and how the Dornish would one day help her reclaim their family's Iron Throne. _Just another of the many broken dreams that we delude ourselves with _he mused sadly as he felt a wave of melancholy overcome him.

Suddenly he felt Jorah watching him. "What's the matter lad?"

Rhaego was silent for a time but then looked at Jorah with a deeply tired expression that showed just how exhausted the young man really was despite what he would have those around him believe. "That old man's ravings, his talk of dragons and harpies…it's just like that damned prophecy, it'll follow me around forever; I'll always be compared to something that I'm not."

Mormont let out a deep sigh and gave the young Khal's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "That prophecy was made by a bunch of dried up old women who have spent too much time in the sun, the truth is that such power was beyond the likes of them, beyond the likes of anyone. _No one_ knows the future lad. Your destiny is your _own._"

Rhaego sat in silence as he tried to absorb Jorah's words into his mind. Perhaps the only power such prophecies had was what men assigned to them, either way he knew he couldn't let those kind of thoughts hold him back as they had.

Standing to his feet Rhaego took a large swig of his wine before looking down at Jorah. "Tell the men to enjoy themselves today, for we ride for Qarth at nightfall."


	3. Undying

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING.**

**A/N: Thanks to all those who followed, favourited and reviewed the story!**

It had taken the Khalasar two weeks of hard riding to reach Qarth, two weeks of resting during the day and riding long into the night in order to avoid the unrelenting rays of the sun. Such a journey would have killed most men, but Rhaego's Khalasar had been fully prepared for it, with enough supplies to last them the journey, coupled with an unyielding loyalty from his men.

The journey was not without casualties however, when Aggo fell from his horse and would not rise again. When Rhaego saw his Ko fall he commanded his horde to stop and quickly jumped from his steed and went over to the downed man's side. He had looked up at Rhaego with a look of confusion and desperation, trying in vain to get back to his feet. But even Rhaego knew that it would be no good; Aggo was one of the oldest riders in his Khalasar and had protected Rhaego's mother after his father had died. The man had taught Rhaego how to use a bow and faithfully served as Bloodrider when Rhaego had left Pentos. And now he was dying.

"Forgive me blood of my blood, I…I can no longer ride, I-"

Rhaego had hushed him at that and instead squeezed the old man's hand. "You have served me well blood of my blood, you've done enough. Do not fear the Great Stallion; he is coming to take you to the stars to ride with your ancestors. Do you feel his embrace?"

The old man looked off, past Rhaego and nodded slightly as a smile came across his face and his eyes stared out unseeing as the life slipped from him. Rhaego said a silent prayer for the man and then closed his blank eyes, the faint smile still on the man's face.

Later that night Rhaego had his men build a funeral pyre for the man and stared intently into the flames as they consumed Aggo, just like they had consumed his father, just like they would consume him one day. He had been raised to believe in many things when he was young; the seven gods of his mother, the Great Stallion of his father's people, Jorah had even told him stories of the Gods of his homeland, the old trees of the north. Yet despite all of this he found that he wasn't sure if he truly had faith in any of it, life just seemed so random and at times cruel. Thoughts of morality and faith plagued him for much of his journey until he finally reached the walled city of Qarth.

Before they were even a mile from the great city Rhaego's Khalasar already seemed to attract the attention of the Qartheen and as they rode closer they could see that there was a greeting party ready to receive them. Rhaego felt a swell of anxiety in his stomach as he went to the noblemen that had amassed in front of the city gates, he knew that if he even said the slightest thing to offend them in any way the walls of Qarth would be closed to him forever and he and his riders would be doomed to die in the red waste. _You have Illyrio's letter. That should appease the greedy bastards _he reassured himself.

There were roughly twenty men of nobility standing in front of the Qarth gates, with at least double that amount of men standing guard by their sides. Rhaego, along with Jorah and his bloodriders rode up a few feet away from the men and then dismounted and gave the Qartheen a bow of respect as they approached. The Qartheen seemed pleasantly surprised by this and some even returned the gesture. Among the group a short fat man dressed in fine silks stepped out and bowed at Rhaego.

"Many greetings to you mighty Khal, lord of horses. What brings you and your Khalasar to the greatest city that is and ever was?" asked the man in a pompous tone.

Rhaego resisted the urge to laugh at the man's vanity but instead gave the fat man a smile and responded in the common tongue. "My name is Rhaego, and I have travelled a long way to visit your great city my lord."

The fat man laughed at that. "Oh I am no lord, young Khal. I am simply a trader of spices and one of the people tasked with keeping my city as great as it is. So I'll ask again, why are you here?"

Rhaego swallowed his anger and forced another smile as he pulled out the letter he had been carrying for weeks now and gave it to the fat man who cautiously took it and read over the contents, his beady eyes swiftly darting from one side of the page to the other. After a moment he looked up at Rhaego sceptically. "So you are in service to Magister Illyrio Mopatis?"

"Yes, I do all that the good Magister asks of Me." replied Rhaego in an even voice.

The fat man didn't seem to believe it. "A Dothraki savage in service of a Pentoshi prince, I have never heard of such a thing. If you are indeed one of his servants then tell me, what does he keep in the court of his manse?"

Without blinking Rhaego automatically answered, having grown up around that manse as a child he knew every detail of the place. "A statue of his likeness as a youth."

This seemed to please the fat man and a wiry smile crossed his obese features and he gave Rhaego a happy nod. "Yes he most certainly does, though only those close to him know that. You have convinced me young Khal." And then he turned back to the other nobles. "He has proof of who he says he is, and I will vouch for his entry."

The various members seemed to murmur amongst themselves for a time before they too agreed to allow Rhaego and his men to enter through the large gates into the oasis that lay within.

* * *

The Spice King, as he was known, had taken in Rhaego and his riders and allowed them to stay at his manse for a while before sending them back to Illyrio with his terms. The fat man had even thrown them a glamorous garden party which gave Rhaego the chance to mix and mingle with the upper class of Qarth and brought him ever closer to the man he was looking for; Xaro Xhaon Daxos. The man had apparently bought a dragon egg from Rhaego's mother in exchange for lodgings and the young Khal sought to take it back.

Rhaego was quite surprised by the manner in which the Qartheen dressed, particularly the women's tendency to leave one breast bare, causing him to feel a swell of desire as he spoken to many of the nobles, but he quickly smothered all of those thoughts and tried to focus on his goal of finding Daxos.

He had spent half the day conversing with a great number of nobles eager to hear about potential business deals he could help set up with Illyrio and he spent the other half devoted to keeping his men from stealing any of the gold around the manse. However after a time his patience was rewarded and he was greeted by a tall bald man with a milky skin and a jewelled nose; Daxos.

"Mighty Khal, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Xaro Xhaon Daxos, merchant and proud member of the Thirteen at your service. If there is anything that I can do to help you then please, let me know." said the man, his face spreading into a sickening smile.

"The pleasure is mine Xaro. Would you mind if we walked and talked? I have a business proposal for the thirteen that you might be interested in." replied Rhaego with a smile of his own.

The bald man grinned predatorily at that and gestured for him to walk, and the two slowly discussed trivial matters such as the amount of ships that the Thirteen could spare for voyage to Pentos and the amounts of silk and spices they could carry. This continued on for some time until they were out of sight from the other guests and Rhaego suddenly changed the conversation.

"I have something better than spice and silk to trade to you lord Daxos, and I'd only want something small in return." He said enigmatically.

The Qartheen was practically licking his lips at thought of Rhaego's offer, his greed getting the better of him. "I wonder, what could be more valuable than silk and spice? Gold? Valyrian steel?"

Rhaego leant forward and whispered in the man's pierced ear. "Your life."

Daxos stepped back and looked at the young Khal in confusion, but before he could speak Togo and Jakerhro grabbed the man harshly by his arms and forced him down onto his knees in front of Rhaego.

"Now, as I said. I am willing to give you your life provided that you return the dragon egg you stole from my mother all those years ago." said Rhaego in a grave voice.

Daxos however simply laughed at the young Khal and spat at his feet. "Even if you have the protection of Illyrio, you cannot get away with murdering a member of the Thirteen."

Rhaego smirked at the man's false assurance. "You're right; they'll likely kill the man who ends you. That's why Togo here is going to do it."

The merchant turned his head as best he could to the man holding him down and stared at him in confusion. Togo met his stare and gave him a toothy grin. "I would gladly die for the blood of my blood."

Rhaego now pulled out a dagger and held it under the Qartheen's chin. "You have only one choice. Now tell me where the egg is. I'll only ask once."

For a long moment it seemed that Daxos wouldn't answer him but eventually the fear of death was too much for the greedy merchant and he suddenly choked out "I don't have it anymore! I gave it to Pyat Pree!"

"Where can I find this Pyat Pree?" he half asked, half demanded.

"I-In the House of the Undying."

* * *

The merchant did take Rhaego and his bloodriders to the infamous House of the Undying, which, the young Khal thought a lot less fearsome than its name implied; merely a large grey ruin, bare of any towers or windows. It was surrounded by a thick grove of the most peculiar looking trees that Rhaego had ever seen; bark as black as soot with leaves that were an inky blue.

When they finally reached the entrance to the building they were greeted by a ghastly looking man who seemed almost a corpse; his face was a hollow mask with lifeless eyes and chalk white skin, yet the most striking feature of this man was his ink blue lips. Rhaego recalled hearing a story once that all Warlocks drank something called _shade of the evening _that slowly drove them mad and their lips blue. _We must tread lightly with this creature. Magic or no, madmen are capable of anything…_

Xaro Xhaon Daxos however didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. "Pyat Pree! It is most excellent seeing you again."

The corpse man however did not take his eyes off of Rhaego, who despite his best efforts frowned back at the creature with visible unease. It was as if the monsters from one of Rhaego's old bed time stories had come to life before him.

"On behalf of the warlocks of Qarth, welcome to the house of the undying, Stallion who mounts the world." The man's voice was oddly smooth.

"I have come-"

"We know what you have come for young horselord and by all means you can have it. All that you need to do is enter the House of the Undying and take it." replied the Warlock, cutting the young Khal off.

Rhaego fixed his gaze at the rotting building in front of him and simply nodded. The Warlock handed the young Khal a glass of inky blue liquid. "You must drink deep if want to see and hear the truths that will be laid before you."

Rhaego grimaced and gulped it down in one mouthful, leaving an ashy taste in his mouth and throat as it went down. He then made for the building in front of him, hoping that whatever he drank wouldn't relieve him of his senses. When Ser Jorah made to follow him, the warlock held up his hands in warning. "He who enters must enter alone or not at all." There didn't seem to be any malice in the warlock's voice, yet Rhaego still found himself feeling ill at ease with the man.

"Rhaego this is madness! Who knows what lies in there?"

The Khal grinned back at his protector. "I'll be alright Ser" his replied cheerfully "If by some chance I don't make it out then you can bring the warlock's head back to my Khalasar." And with a final glance back at his bloodriders and Ser Jorah he approached a door that appeared to be an oval mouth set in the wall fashioned like that of a human face.

"Remember young dragon you will see many things inside but you must stay on your path, to reach the Undying you must always take the first door on your right and always up the stairs, understand?"

"First door on my right and up the stairs." repeated Rhaego before taking a deep breath and entering into the mouth of the Undying.

* * *

The first room that Rhaego entered was a large circular shape with three large doorways. He felt a vague tingling sensation in his head and a deep shiver travelled along his spine, as if the air itself was tickling his skin. He took a deep breath and remembered the Warlock's words and went through the door on the very right and then moved up the stairs that lay behind it.

He emerged in a long hallway with many doors on both sides of him. His head was beginning to spin slightly and he felt a dull ache as he pressed forward past the doors, but felt himself stop as if his feet were being weighted down and he noticed that some of the doors were open.

To his left was an open room and inside Rhaego could see a beautiful woman sprawling out on the floor. The woman had beautiful golden hair that spread out around her as she laid naked and seemly unconscious. Rhaego felt a sense of horror overwhelm him when he saw four rat faced creatures thrusting in and about her body. He was about to step forward but then his senses returned to him and he kept walking.

His line of sight was suddenly compelled once again to one of the open doors and this time he saw an old man with long silver gold hair and worm like lips sitting on a throne of swords. The man had a feral look in his eyes and seemed to be muttering something that Rhaego couldn't hear. He knew straight away that this man was one of his kin yet he had never met any Targaryen aside from his mother, he found the man's presence unnerving so continued on.

He was close to the final door now when suddenly he heard a soft voice gently singing. Despite his feverish state Rhaego found the voice extremely soothing and he turned towards the direction the voice was coming from. Looking through another open door Rhaego spotted a beautiful woman with olive skin nursing a child and singing to the babe sweetly. Memories of his own childhood flooded back to him and he felt a desperate sense of home sickness. Suddenly he heard a voice and saw a man approach the woman. The man had a tall yet slim build with long silver hair and deep purple eyes that were filled with melancholy, and when he spoke his voice cut straight into Rhaego's heart. "Aegon…what better a name for a King…..he is the Prince who was promised, and his is the song of Ice and Fire." Suddenly the man's eyes met Rhaego's and the young Khal almost flinched from shock. "There must be one more….the Dragon must have three heads."

The man then walked over to a large harp and began playing the most beautiful music Rhaego had ever heard and then he realised. _Rhaegar, this man is my uncle Rhaegar…._he took one more fleeting glance at the man whom he had been named for and continued onwards, his thoughts racing as he tried to comprehend what the dead man had meant.

He was at the final door on the right when suddenly he heard a bizarre squawking hiss coming from directly behind him. Despite his best intentions Rhaego still felt compelled to look at the final door opposite, and very slowly he turned to see a beautiful young woman with long silver hair and bright purple eyes staring back at him, eyes he knew anywhere.

"Mother?" he asked softly as went to the door, staring at the woman with pleading eyes.

The woman seemed young, younger even than Rhaego, but there was no mistaking it; she was Daenerys Targaryen. She looked back at Rhaego with a look of extreme sadness and confusion and seemed unsure of what to do, for a moment she looked as if she was going to step towards him but then suddenly a small reptilian creature popped up its head from behind her shoulder and hissed at him. Rhaego stared entranced at the little creature, as smoke came from its nostrils and then it dawned on him: _Dragon._

He wanted to say something, _anything _to her yet the words got stuck in his throat like bile. His mother stared back at him with tears welling in her eyes before she seemed to take a deep breath and then closed the door between them.

Rhaego wasn't sure why but he felt oddly heartbroken at that but quickly steeled himself and decided to go over to the final door. Despite the now massive throbbing in his head he remembered the Warlock's words clearly _Last door on the right. _He took a deep breath and walked through.

He suddenly found himself in a large gloomy room, which was only lit by an odd fading indigo light. In the gloom he managed to make out a large stone table that stretched across the room. He could vaguely see a number of individuals sitting at that table but he found it difficult to focus on anything with the pain that was burning in his head. It seemed to have intensified as he approached the table and suddenly the throbbing in his head became audible and the young Khal nearly doubled over from the pain.

Despite his agony he managed to make out one thing in the dark, the source of the indigo light and his throbbing pain; a large swollen and blue heart filled with corruption that was _floating _above the table. Despite the horror of the situation Rhaego couldn't help but stare at the glowing, beating, hideous organ with its mystical light.

Suddenly the figures at the table stood up and Rhaego got a chance to see them, the Undying Ones of Qarth, those whom held his prize. Rhaego was shocked by how hauntingly beautiful they all looked, and when they spoke, even their voices sounded inhumanly sweet.

"Stallion who mounts the world. Son of Fire. Breaker of Armies." They said together in a unanimous voice which seemed as if it came from the very building itself. "You will know Ice, you will know Fire. You will know love, you will know grief. You will know birth, you will know death. You will see the night that comes for all."

The throbbing of the heart and in Rhaego's head began to beat in synch and suddenly he felt the strength leave his legs and he fell to a knee as everything around him began to spin past and move into mere blurs and colours before suddenly feeling an extreme sense of vertigo before the world around him began to take shape once again.

He could feel grass swaying about beside him, and when he rose to his feet he found that it was almost touching his throat it was so high. A gentle breeze kissed at his skin and the sun's warmth embraced him and Rhaego realised that he was now in the great grass sea of his people and for the briefest of moments he felt content, but then he heard the grass sway and he saw someone approaching him.

The man was a Dothraki of equal height to Rhaego, though with much larger muscles and a thick beard and moustache which contained numerous bells which chimed ever so slightly in the wind. The man's eyes were fierce like a lion's yet there was something off about them and then Rhaego's sight fell to the man's chest. The man's left pectoral was rotted out all the way through to the ribs, and to Rhaego's horror there were grave worms swimming about the wound and under his flesh.

The man suddenly held up his colossal hand, the blue beating heart from earlier sitting in his palm. "You must eat the heart so that you may grow strong." growled the man in Dothraki.

Rhaego was about to respond when suddenly he felt the world give way and the feeling of vertigo overtook him once again, blowing away everything else as his brains rattled around in his skull. When the spinning stopped he was now inside of a dank cell, a dungeon of some kind. The only light in the entire cell came from one poorly lit torch hanging from a wall. As he stepped forward to grab the torch he heard the rattling of chains, and quickly looked around to see no one. He took another step closer only to be met with a loud roar coming from the dark in front of him, and suddenly saw a great lion walk from the shadows and give the young Khal a miserable growl as it turned and dragged behind it a trail of long rusty chains that were attached to the beast's collar.

The flame from the torch suddenly grew massive and spread across the room and the flames spun and twisted everything around him once again. He began to see more visions in quick succession each barely leaving an image before dissolving into the next. At first he saw a great black stallion riding towards him, but then the beast transformed into that of a mighty griffin, sitting protectively over a blue dragon's egg, but then that too swirled away and was remade into the horrific image of monstrously big harpy sitting on a throne of skulls and screeching into the blood red sky. When his head was just about ready to explode he caught sight of large stag wearing a decorative golden crown, before suddenly he found himself on his knees, desperately clutching at his head to stop the visions.

All seemed quiet now, and the pain from Rhaego's head had mercifully receded. He looked around to find himself in the House of the Undying once again, on his knees before the council of the Undying Ones; every one of them had their youthful eyes on his form. Rhaego looked up at them wearily and saw that one of them held a something large within his hands; a green dragon's egg.

As if following Rhaego's eyes the wizard silently held out the ancient stone, causing the young Khal to rise to his feet and walk over to them luminous beings. When he finally got close enough to them he grabbed the stone from the wizard's outstretched hand, yet for some reason the other man did not let go of the egg.

Rhaego looked up at the man in confusion and suddenly realized that he was now being surrounded by the entire council of beings. To his great horror he then saw the Undying Ones for what they truly were; ancient monsters with withered violet blue skin the same texture as raw leather. With an ungodly shriek they leapt at Rhaego, dozens of them clawing and biting at his flesh and drinking his blood. _They're eating me, Gods…they're eating me!_

He punched and kicked at many of them, sending a few reeling only for others to jump at him and take their place like a pack of dogs hungrily tearing at a dying calf and soon Rhaego found himself buried under the pile of numerous undead corpses trying to feast on his body and drink his life's blood.

The young Khal was beginning to lose his strength as inch by inch they began to tear his innards out, the darkness closing in. But then the scratching and clawing stopped and he opened a bloody eye to see his attackers staring in horror as a bright green liquid enveloped the floating blue heart, making it burst into a roaring green explosion of flames that went across the room on over the shrieking undead.

As the Undying Ones had their names put to the test, Rhaego crawled over to where they had dropped the dragon egg. With the last of his strength he pulled his heavily muscled and inert body over to the ancient gem, something deep in his blood urging him forward. While he was low to the ground he could still smell the smoke filling in the air and his breathing began to become more and more laboured. Finally he grasped the egg and clutched it tight to his chest as things began to go dark.

The last thing Rhaego saw before he let the darkness take him was a beautiful woman dressed in red standing above him.


	4. Dreams and Bells

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: I apologize for the lateness of this chapter, life got in the way as it often does but now I'm back on track and the updates should start coming at a regular pace now! As always, a thousand thank yous to everyone who reviewed-they do mean a lot and keep me inspired!**

Lavender. The first thing that greeted Rhaego as he awoke was the heavy smell of lavender pervading the air. With agonizing effort the young Khal sat up in his bed only to be gently pushed back down by Jorah and one of his bloodriders. The stood around his bedside like ominous spectres looking down on him to pass some form of hideous judgement.

"Easy Rhaego, you're safe, though you scared the life out of us with that trick against the Warlocks." said Jorah with a laugh.

"Where am I?" asked Rhaego as he struggled to clear his throbbing head of its fog.

"You're in my guest room." Came the familiar haughty voice of the Spice King, though he looked none too pleased at the moment. "I suggest you take your leave as soon as you are able; the Warlocks had many powerful friends in Qarth."

Rhaego wasn't bothered by this turn of events, no, his mind was too busy obsessing over another matter entirely. "Where is the dragon egg?" he asked suddenly.

Jakerhro smiled and procured something from underneath a bundle of clothes, revealing the ancient green stone. Rhaego eagerly took the large gem and inspected it closely, as if it held some the answers to some ancient riddle that he could only vaguely imagine.

"I must insist that you and your men leave Qarth tonight." Cut in the Spice King again, a look of impatience on his rounded face. "The good Magister should know that despite my wish for continued business, I cannot let you remain here. I shall organize safe passage if you require."

"A ship back to Pentos would be much appreciated." chimed in Jorah.

"No! We're not going back to Pentos, not yet." interrupted Rhaego angrily._ Returning now would be an admission of defeat. _"There is one more place I must go….my lord, I would ask that you provide me and my riders enough supplies to travel to Norvos."

The fat merchant blinked in confusion at the young Khal for a few moments before slowly nodding his head, sending ripples down his multiple chins. "I'll have everything arranged. You must be ready to leave by nightfall." And with that the merchant bowed and swiftly left the room.

Rhaego slowly rose from his bed and went about stretching his aching muscles and washing his face in a basin of water that lay on a counter, all the while he could feel Jorah's glare of disapproval boring a hole into his back. The young Khal rinsed the sweat from his brow before turning to look at the tired old man standing behind him.

"You might as well get it off your chest Jorah."

"This is madness. We should return back to Pentos, not go riding off into the desert!" growled Jorah in frustration, the lines of stress becoming more and more visible on his worn hairy face.

"I still have one more egg to retrieve." Replied Rhaego calmly.

"This will only lead to your death boy!" shouted Mormont in frustration. "You nearly died in that House of The Undying; did you even consider how your mother would react? I know her; she cares more about your wellbeing than she does for some useless gem."

Rhaego looked away briefly and tried to gather his thoughts, tried to think of some way, _any_ way to explain himself to the old bear knight. It was not that he didn't want to return to his home in Pentos or see his mother again, but he knew in his heart that he couldn't just give up, not after having come so far already.

"Jorah, this is something I have to see through. You call it madness? Well I say it would be madness to turn back after having come all this way. If you want to go back to Pentos then by all means go, but I'm leaving for Norvos with or without you."

The old bear was about to open his mouth in response but swiftly shut it when Rhaego fixed him a fiery glare that had sent many a warrior running in fear and simply gave the young Khal a nod before leaving his chambers.

* * *

The moon was shining bright when they left Qarth, illuminating the garden of bones that lay outside the city's mighty walls for miles. The Dothraki were natural nomads and thus did not drag their feet in leaving the city and, along with the added supplies they had been granted, ventured out into the cool night.

Rhaego smiled as he felt the cool night breeze kiss his copper skin, he had spent most of his life in the harsh warmth of the desert and times when he could truly enjoy the cool were rare. For the most part they rode in silence which suited Rhaego fine as he tried to gather his thoughts about all that he had seen inside the Warlocks' temple. The words of that had been said, the images of lions and stags and blue griffins…it all made his head spin at put a deep fear into his belly.

When they made camp later that night the young Khal hunkered down with his bloodriders and began listening to their japes and stories and found himself feeling better because of it. The smaller things in life helped distract him from the colossal challenges that awaited him, and kept him thankful for what he had with his Khalasar.

As he made to enter his tent the young Khal felt as though he were being watched yet when he turned his head to look behind him all he could see was the sleeping forms of his men around the camp fire and the eternal darkness of the desert beyond them.

He thought of the red woman as he gave a final glance at the campfire, the flow of her crimson hair, the way the flames danced about her but not touching her. Such an image was hard to get out of his head despite everything so he chose to instead think of another woman as he entered his tent and went to his cot; he had seen his mother in that house as well, with a dragon no less. _She closed the door then, not me _he reminded himself. The memory caused him to ache with longing, how long had it been since he had last heard her voice?

Rhaego shook the thoughts away; he was a Khal of the Dothraki not a mewling child who needed his mother, instead he thought of the blood he would soon spill if anyone stood in his way. The Norvosi were proud warriors and wouldn't quake so easily at the sight of Rhaego's riders and only the gods knew how many men he would have to kill to get to his prize. _No matter_ he thought to himself _It wouldn't be the first time I've killed to get what I want…_

* * *

They continued to travel by night and rest by day for another week until finally they left the red waste and returned to the familiar tall grass of the Dothraki sea, where food and game where plentiful. The change in environment greatly improved the morale of his Khalasar who had were overjoyed to be back in the lands of their birth. Jorah however, was not happy.

"You've never told me about what was inside that cursed building." He said one morning as they returned from a hunt.

Rhaego clenched his jaw. "What do you want to know?" he said reluctantly.

Mormont's face darkened. "I would hear it all. You were in that place for hours and suddenly it burnt to the ground, what went on inside?"

The young Khal gave a heavy sigh and tried to find the right words to describe the waking nightmare he had experienced. Would Jorah understand the way his mind had been bent and twisted as he struggled to move through that labyrinth of horror? Rhaego wasn't sure but he knew that he had to speak of it to someone or else let the memories continue to haunt his dreams.

"I did as the Warlock instructed and followed the path, though I was met by countless illusions and devilry that tried to halt my progress." He took a breath and looked Jorah straight in the eye, praying that the older man would believe what he said next. "When I found the Undying Ones they presented me with visions, warnings I think. It was as if the world around me twisted into something else and I was suddenly confronted by apparitions…a lion that was beaten and chained, a griffin that sat over a dragon's egg…a large stag with a crown around its neck and a harpy that sat atop a throne of bones."

The Bear knight rubbed at his beard thoughtfully at that and was silent for a long time before turning back to the Khal. "A crowned stag you say? That would be the sigil of House Baratheon."

Rhaego's purple eyes widened in shock as realization dawned on him. He had been taught all of the sigils of the noble Houses in Westeros by his mother as a boy yet it never occurred to him that the visions he had seen may have referencing actual men. Were these people his enemies?

"The lion could mean House Lannister, whom butchered your cousins and grandfather." said Jorah thoughtfully.

"What of the griffin? Who holds that beast as their sigil?"

The big knight furrowed his hairy brow in deep thought before making a clucking sound with his tongue. "There was a House in the Stormlands that bore the Griffin sigil, though to the best of my knowledge they are either all dead or stripped of their lands after Robert's Rebellion."

"And the Harpy?" he asked eagerly.

Mormont considered. "I can't think of any lord or knight from Westeros who bears the Harpy, but….do not let these things trouble you so much, fate is beyond our command. These prophecies only serve to infuriate and madden the living and you have too much ahead of you to let this weigh you down as well."

The young Khal thought on the old knight's words and could see their wisdom, and tried to go about his journeys as he had in the past yet every night when he closed his eyes his dreams were haunted by the beasts he had yet to face and the burning glow of the crimson woman who had been his saviour.

The Khalasar moved west along the familiar paths of the Dothraki Sea that had been left behind by countless other horse lords who had traversed the same soil as they had. It was on such a ride that Rhaego wondered whether his father had ever been in the same place he was travelling over, if he had ever been young and full of dreams. _Would that I had known you father, perhaps I would not be living an exiles life_ he reflected as he sadly watched the road ahead of him.

After two weeks of riding they finally came upon the city of Norvos. It was not half as big Pentos but it seemed to dwarf Myr or Qohor, with the large amount of smaller villages lying on its outskirts and its rolling hills it was both wide and tall. They were not even a league from the inner city and already they could spot the High City that sat atop the highest of the Norvosi hills. What struck Rhaego were the sounds the city made as they approached; the three bells of Norvos were said to be among the greatest creations of man, with their unique sounds echoing across the immediate land, informing all of where they were.

"The city is too big to sack blood of my blood." Tommo informed him as they rode.

"Aye, I would have you wait in one of these outlying villages while I take Jorah the Andal and Jakerhro into the city to find my prize. Can you do that Blood of my blood?" he asked his old friend.

A flash of disappointment crossed Tommo's copper face but he bowed his head in acceptance. "It will be as you say blood of my blood."

After his Ko's had given the command and the Khalasar took up camp just outside one of the exterior villages, Rhaego and a small handful of men entered the massive city and made their way towards the High City where their target resided. The streets were clogged with people of different races and creeds; some were selling their trades while others preached high and loud about the word of their gods, most however, were simply travellers trying to find their way.

As they passed the great temple of the Bearded Priests the companions came across a large brown bear that was performing a swaying dance for a crowd of amazed onlookers down the Sinner's Steps. The beast easily stood eight feet tall and looked as though it could have effortlessly killed a dozen men with its large paws though Rhaego could tell that most of the fight had been beaten from the animal after years of mistreatment and servitude. _It is the nature of man to break and destroy everything he has power over_ he reflected.

"A friend of yours?" asked Jakerhro to Jorah as he pointed at the great furry beast. The big knight let out a low chuckle but said nothing as they continued their trek through the labyrinth like streets and up the steep hills. By the time they reached the High City their feet were well and truly sore and Rhaego let them stop for a moment and catch their breath.

Jorah took a mouthful of water from his canteen. "How much further? It feels like we've been climbing the damned Wall itself."

"Not too far, Illyrio told me that the man who has the last dragon egg is named Fahrio and that he lives close to the great bell of Nyel which is to the east of here."

The bear knight grunted in acknowledgement and after a time they all pushed on. While they had a name and a general location, Illyrio had not provided them with anything more specific so they were forced to follow the high pitched sound of the Nyel bell and ask people on the streets if they had heard of anyone with the name Fahrio, most people were ignorant of the man or just too frightened to converse with several Dothraki and a large Westerosi knight.

It was well past midday when they finally did find someone who anything of value, an old merchant that was half blind and near toothless, yet he looked at Rhaego with his one good eye with honesty. "Aye, I know that filthy cutthroat Fahrio." He had told them before spitting in distaste. "The bastard robbed more than half of us here on the streets with his damned dice games. Would that I could still swing a sword and I'd have had his pox marked head."

Rhaego smiled at that. "Tell me where I can find him and I'll bring it to you, mayhaps I'll even wrap it in silk dressing if you wish."

The old man snorted. "You're too late. The city guard found him out three days past, now he rots away in the Stone Cells."

The Khal cursed under his breath. The Stone Cells of Norvos were infamous among travellers, as a cautionary tale for anyone who entered the city and thought to break the Norvosi laws. The giant stone fortress that housed the multitudes of criminals was built in the time when Old Valyria ruled the East, its thick walls made of some volcanic stone that has suffered very little wear from the ages and had stood as a symbol of both Valyrian ingenuity and Norvosi determination.

Jorah gave the prince a sceptical look. "What now?"

Rhaego paced about trying to rack his brains for a solution for the newest test that the Great Stallion had thrown his way. It was near impossible to break out of the Stone Cells once imprisoned there so that at least meant that his prey would not be going anywhere but it would also make it impossible to actually reach the man as he had no coin to bribe the gaolers. It was then an idea came upon him. "I'm going to get myself arrested."

Mormont's jaw hung open in shock. "Madness."

The look Rhaego gave Jorah was dark. "Never use that word in presence Ser. Besides, if me and a few of my bloodriders allow ourselves to be imprisoned within the Stone Cells then we can find Fahrio and get him to tell us where the egg is, while that is happening you are to go back to Tommo and bring the Khalasar within the city. If we can attack the prison from the outside it may just serve as enough of a distraction for us on the inside to make an escape."

The former lord of Bear Island did not look convinced yet grudgingly nodded his head. Once the old bear was informed of everything he had to do Rhaego sent him off to return to the Khalasar while Jakerhro and Togo stayed by his side. The trio watched the streets and marketplaces for any members of the city guard and once they caught sight of one or two of the cloaked figures they would try and start a fight. Rhaego had broken a man's nose and likely crippled another before he was struck over the head and sent into a semi-conscious daze.

It was a few hours later when the pain faded enough for him to regain his senses and he was vaguely aware of two burly men dragging him by his arms down a series of steps before finally dumping him unceremoniously into a damp and dark room. He absently rubbed at the throbbing spot on his head and felt wetness there as the dark red of his blood mingled with the silver of his hair.

"How many of them did you kill before they brought you here?" came a haughty voice from somewhere in his darkened cell.

Despite the pain and the dizziness that still clouded his senses, Rhaego slowly rose from the ground to get a better look at his cell and the one he was with. The room itself seemed more like a burrow that had been clawed into the rock rather than any usual dungeon cell and odd warmth emanated from within the stone walls. The actual interior of the cell was sparse, a small cot and a bucket that served as his privy and some hay on the floor that was home to more than a few rats.

"Quite a shithole isn't it?"

Rhaego once again turned his attention to the darkened half of the cell. "It matters little; I don't intend to stay long."

Another mocking laugh came from the shadows. "Oh and I'm sure you're only here now to humour our wonderful gaolers.

"As soon as I find that cutthroat Fahrio I will be on my way."

The cell went silent then and Rhaego could hear the other man shift his position before finally he came out into the light. The man stood tall, though he was shorter and thinner than Rhaego's own massive form, and his clothes seemed to hang off of his body loosely. His face, while malnourished like the rest of him, was comely in its own way with his lopsided grin and vibrant green eyes that seemed to exude laughter and while he certainly seemed well over forty his face seemed mostly devoid of wrinkles and the only indicator of his age was the grey that crept into his golden locks around his temples and beard.

The man flashed a grin. "I have bad news my friend, Fahrio was killed last night."


	5. The Forgotten Lion

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: As always, many thanks to those of you who left a review, it keeps me inspired!**

Rhaego stared at the gold haired man sitting across from him, struggling with the new he had just heard. "Killed….how?"

The other man simply shrugged. "He made enemies. People don't take kindly to men who cheat at dice, even in this hell."

_What in the name of the gods am I going to do now?_ He wondered hopelessly as he collapsed onto the small bunk that had been provided for him. _With Fahrio dead how else am I to find the dragon egg? It could be anywhere…_

"You seem….distressed. Was he a friend of yours?"

Rhaego snorted. "Gods no, I never met the man but he did steal something precious that belonged to someone I care about….though now I shall never see it again." In truth it was likely that he would die not knowing what happened to that dragon egg, and the thought of it churned in his stomach like bad milk.

A smirk crossed the other man's face and he rubbed his beard curiously before leaning back against the stone wall of their shared cell. "You speak the common tongue very well for a Dothraki."

"My mother taught me."

"And I would hazard a guess and say you could speak High Valyrian as well."

Rhaego eyed the man carefully then. More often than not he spent his time amongst the Dothraki and outside of his childhood in Pentos it was rare that he spent any considerable amount of time in any of the Free Cities, and as such his Valyrian heritage was often ignored. Most took him to be the son of some Lyseni bedslave though he could see that his cellmate wouldn't buy that charade.

"Valar Morghulis." He said finally.

"Valar Dohaeris." answered the man with a broad grin. "Tell me, what is the son of Daenerys Stormborn doing in a Norvosi prison, searching for a dragon egg perhaps?"

The young Khal rose to his feet then. "You know of it?"

A grin crossed the man's face once again and his eyes seemed to shine like twin emeralds in the darkness of the cell. "Let's just say that Fahrio and I played dice on more than one occasion."

A silence fell over the small room then as the two men watched each other warily. Rhaego knew that he could easily overpower the other man and that it wouldn't take too much effort to maim him, though if he did anything too harsh on the man he might kill him by mistake. Just when the tension had reached its peak the golden haired man gave a bark of laughter. "You're quite an anxious young man aren't you? So eager to use your fists rather than your brain, though at least you wouldn't hide behind guards like your grandfather."

"You knew him?"

A shadow of a smile passed the man's face then. "I knew the Mad King Aerys before he was a king yes, he and my brother were quite close back in those days. But then once the jittering fool sat the throne he ruined it for the rest of your lot, didn't he?"

Rhaego felt anger within him at the man's arrogance, boiling up in the back of his throat until he was like to choke upon the taste. "Who are you to mock my family? My family ruled the greatest dynasty the world has ever seen for three hundred years!"

The man held up his hands in peace. "Apologies, it was a thoughtless jape. While I confess I had no love for your grandsire, Queen Rhaella on the other hand was the image of kindness, a shame that the she was betrothed to one person she didn't hold any affection for."

He watched as his cellmate spoke and saw genuine emotion in the man's voice and suddenly his curiosity grew steadily. "Who are you? How do you know my family so well?"

His cellmate shifted uncomfortably on his cot and his green eyes looked off into the corner of the cell as if he was ashamed. He was about to speak when suddenly they heard a clanging noise as the cell door unlocked and was pushed open. A single guard walked in, a large rounded man with a bald head and a thick brown drooping moustache; in his large hands were two bowls of oats which he carefully placed on the ground before slowly backing out of the cell and locking the door back into place.

The Golden haired man quickly rose from his cot and went over to the bowls. He handed one to Rhaego before sitting back down and scooping up the mushy food with his hands and began hungrily devouring it. After a few moments the man caught Rhaego staring. "You best eat up; we only get the one meal a day."

Hesitantly the Khal dipped a copper finger into the mush a brought it to his mouth. It was quite bland but otherwise perfectly edible and he slowly began to scoop up bigger mouthfuls. Once he was finished with his subpar meal he sat the bowl done beside his cot and stared at his cellmate once more.

"You know where Fahrio hid the dragon egg."

"I do. It seems our mutual friend was something of a packrat; he hid his most precious belongings in a secure location, though he was prone to blabbering when he was in his cups…"

"What do you want in exchange for its location?"

His cellmate grinned broadly at that and let out a low chuckle. "You implied that you could escape from this place. I only ask that when you do launch your daring escape that you allow an old lion like me to tag along, once we are free I shall happily reunite you with that lovely red stone."

_How can I trust this man? _he wondered. It could be that the man sitting across from him was nothing more than a liar who sought to play on Rhaego's own desperation. Yet the man knew things about his family. _What do I have to lose? One way or another I must needs escape from this place and if he betrays me he'll die by inches…_

"I need proof." He finally grunted warily.

The golden haired man gave a curt nod. "Alright, the dragon egg in question is a dark red, almost black, and it was taken from your mother Daenerys Stormborn, around sixteen years ago back when she was first returned to Pentos under the care of Magister Illyrio Mopatis." He paused and smiled at Rhaego. "Do I need to go on?"

"Fine, but know this; if you betray me I'll rip your heart out and nail it high for all of Norvos to see."

"Fair enough." the man rose from his cot and extended his bony hand over to Rhaego. "My name is Gerion."

Time in the cell passed at a strange pace as the only light they had was from the torch that burnt just outside their door, and even that was obscured by the bars on their one window to the world outside their confined space. On what he assumed was his second day of imprisonment Rhaego was stirred awake by Gerion who pointed over to their cell door. "Come, best get in an hour of exercise while we have the chance."

Groggily the young Khal got to his feet and followed Gerion out of the cell and into the corridor. Waiting for him were two guards wielding crossbows, one of them poked him in the back with their weapon and urged forward to which he reluctantly obeyed. They followed a long tunnel until finally they came to a large domed room that was littered with various tunnels where several other prisoners had gathered and formed their own small clans. The roof was like everything else in the giant prison; made of volcanic rock with only a dozen or so torches to keep it illuminated. There was a single stairwell that led from the ground to the upper section of the prison where several guards stood, vigilantly watching all below them ready to fire their bolts down on any unruly prisoner that caught their notice. Rhaego felt a swell of disgust in his gullet as he eyed the men watching him. _Crossbows are the weapons of cravens and eunuchs_, _would that I had my arakh…_

As they walked down into the dome Rhaego spotted Jakerhro amidst the collection of malnourished prisoners shuffling about. Not long after he also saw Togo, though he looked like he was ready to keel over with the beating that had been inflicted on him and one of his eyes seemed to have swollen shut.

He pointed them out to Gerion and the two then ventured over to see them. "Blood of my blood, how do you fare?" he asked Togo who merely smiled at him with a mouth full of blood.

Jakerhro eyed off Gerion sceptically. "Who is this man blood of my blood? He looks like an Andal."

"This man knows of where the dragon egg is hidden and will take us to it." The bloodrider swallowed the answer easily enough.

All of a sudden several of the prisoners began muttering to themselves and started speaking in harsh whispers, many of them throwing poisonous glares up the stairwell and when Rhaego followed their gaze he saw a lone figure standing above, a colossus of a man whose hands were clasped around the handle of the biggest axe Rhaego had ever seen.

Gerion caught him staring. "_That_ is our chief Gaoler, Shiro Kala. The man is a bearded priest and the main obstacle that lies between us and freedom."

"Surely someone has beaten him? One man cannot hold back an entire prison alone."

The other man gave a bark of laughter. "Does it look like a single man? With that axe it's always going to be two against one in a fight with that beast, and you have the crossbowmen to keep the prisoners from revolting so they don't swarm him in numbers."

The gears in Rhaego's head began turning slowly at that as he eyed off the axeman and the rest of the guards that sat perched in high positions, they could most likely slaughter anyone handily from where they were seated and none of Rhaego's companions had anything by way of armour to shield them from the bolts, but if their attention was diverted…

Suddenly he was shaken from his scheming when he observed four Summer Islanders approaching him with murderous intent, each of them looking like a wall of scarred ebony muscle. He stood up a little straight and began stretching the stiffness from his body; he was eager for a fight and relished the chance to vent some stress upon anyone foolish enough to try anything.

The leader of the group spat in Rhaego's direction. "This is my house you've walked into." He walked up to them and crossed his big arms. "and I do not wish for Horse lord scum like you to defile it with your filth." His voice was more growl than an actual tongue used by men.

_I shall relish tearing it out _thought Rhaego, yet he kept silent and waited until the man took a few steps closer.

"Have nothing to say? I should have known you Dothraki aren't worth shit without your horses. Get down on your hands and knees and lick the shit from my feet and I may just take your manhoods instead of your lives."

The man made to take another step and Rhaego was on him in an instant, smashing his fist down on his opponent's jaw thrice in quick succession causing the other man to stumble back as blood came rushing from his mouth and clutching at his now unnaturally gaping mouth. Before his opponent had time to get up Rhaego followed through with another solid punch to the man's throat, sending the Summer Island to ground, dead.

The rest of his group stared up at the young Khal in horror before hurrying back to whatever hovel they crawled from, leaving their friend's corpse to litter the ground. He looked about and saw that a few of the other prisoners were staring at him with expressions that varied from fear, hatred and even admiration. Some of the guards also watched him with dull interest, clearly not worried by the fact that a prisoner had murdered another under their watch.

Gerion chuckled happily at the sight as if it was some bawdy joke he had just heard. "You're going to fit right in here."

Rhaego shrugged. "We're escaping in two day, and this lot of thieves, murderers and rapists are going to help us."


	6. Liberation

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: As always thanks to everyone who left a review :)**

Rhaego had found that his cellmate was prone to singing come night time, or rather, what he assumed was night. Soon after he had killed the Summer Islander the guards had driven them back into their cells like cattle and a queer sense of quiet fell across the prisoners as they slowly marched back to their hovels. Gerion's spirit however was unperturbed who had started singing _Dance of the Dragons_ loud cheerfully, causing more than one of the guards to curse at him. He was halfway through _The Rains of Castamere_ when Rhaego finally had enough.

"Keep your mouth shut or I'll make sure you can never close it again." He growled from his bunk without turning to look at the man.

"Why is it that all you Targaryens insist on violent threats? "Join me or burn" or "Serve me or burn" you're a tad different in the manner in which you threaten but still…it doesn't do to burn people who disagree with you…soon _everyone _starts to disagree with you. A shame Aerys never learnt that."

Rhaego turned his bulky frame and looked at Gerion. "You talk about my grandfather often, but how is it that you and your brother knew him so well?"

The Golden haired man looked away for a moment as something flashed over his emerald eyes, Rhaego couldn't be sure but he thought it looked like shame. "In his youth….the King often paid visits to Casterly Rock."

"Lannister."

"Aye, the youngest son of Lord Tytos Lannister sits across from you; forgotten by the world and by my own kin." A smile quickly came over the man's comely face and he chuckled to himself. "The gods have a sense of humour don't they? A Lion and Dragon, or rather half a dragon, forced to work together."

Rhaego send him a sharp glare. "Just don't take up your brother's traitorous ways or you'll find out how much of a dragon I am."

Gerion brought his emerald eyes to the young Khal, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Aerys Targaryen was your grandsire, but don't think for a second he was a good man. He was a beast who preyed on the very people he ruled, even his own wife. Jamie rightly did away with him and saved the realm from his madness." his frowned deepened. "But that does not excuse my brother for allowing Clegane to butcher the children."

He looked at the golden haired man for a moment, searching for any falseness in his voice, yet found none. "I grew up with stories about how treacherous and evil you Lannisters were, betraying your good and kind friend the king and murdering Aegon and Rhaenys and raping Elia Martell. For years I hated and reviled a great many of the Westerosi lords for the rebellion, but then I grew up. I lived in a world where death waited around every corner and every day brought a new struggle. I care little for the events that happened long before my birth, so you can rest easy Lannister I will not do you any harm as long as you keep your word."

Gerion leant forward from his cot and studied Rhaego before giving a nod of acceptance. "Fair enough, though I think you should let me in on this escape plan of yours. How are you going to get past the crossbowmen?"

"In two days' time my Khalasar will attack the prison," said Rhaego. "With the guards attention divided we'll climb out of this cold damp shithole and escape in the confusion."

"What about the few men that they leave behind? It only takes a single bolt to end your life and the plan's over."

Rhaego's mouth twisted into a grin. "I expect those animals out there will want their freedom too. If they want it then they'll need to fight. A crowd of men should be enough to keep a half dozen crossbowmen busy don't you think?"

"You're forgetting one thing. That bearded Priest will down any man who even tries to climb those steps and many of those 'animals' fear him more than they do those sentries." said Gerion.

Rhaego laughed then, a laugh as cold and hollow as if it had come from the bottom of a well. "Leave the axeman to me."

* * *

The next day during their round of the pit Gerion pointed out two different men whom ruled over the small clans of prisoners. Each group stood as far away from the others as possible and Rhaego knew it would be difficult getting them to work together after years of what he presumed was pure hatred. _Hatred born of boredom if nothing else, they'll come to heel readily enough_ he reassured himself. If not, then he'd simply have to apply more force.

"That man there with the purple beard is Veero Notaris, leader of the Tyroshi. It shouldn't be too hard to persuade him to our side; I've heard it said that he has a wife and child waiting for him in Tyrosh." Gerion informed as he and Rhaego walked about the grounds, Jakerhro and Togo flanking them.

"That one amongst the Lyseni is Plyde; though most just call him the mute on account of him missing most of his tongue for talking back to one of the guards. He can still huff vague sounds out and I'm sure he'd love to get his revenge on the guardsmen."

Gerion seemed fairly convinced that most of them men would do as their appointed leaders commanded, within as much reason as any thug would at a chance for freedom. He noticed that the twelve or so Summer Islanders were scattered about, looking unsure of themselves. "What of them?" he asked.

"HA! Well we don't need to worry about getting their leader under heel seeing as you smashed his throat shut." The Lannister's grin was large and infectious and his smile went straight to his eyes with genuine mirth.

Rhaego rubbed at the stubble that had formed on his jaw and eyed off the various prisoners, all looking half-starved and irate, he very much doubted that they had anything close to discipline. _This is my army,_ he told himself, _these are the tools the Gods haven seen fit to give me._

"Well, I'll speak with the gambler first." He decided before storming over to the Tyroshi group.

The men were playing a game of dice, far too caught up in their gambling to notice the large Dothraki walking towards them until his shadow fell over their game, causing them to look up venomously until they saw the size of the one who had intruded.

The purple bearded man stepped forward cautiously; both hands behind his back undoubtingly containing a shiv of some kind in case Rhaego tried anything. _A sharp rock won't do much against me little man_ he thought with a smirk.

"What do you want Horse lord?" asked Veero.

"You Tyroshi seem like you have a little more life in you compared to the rest of the dregs in this hole, how would you like a chance at freedom?"

The men about him looked at one another cautiously and then to Veero who simply sneered at Rhaego. "I'm not interested in any plots made by a desperate madman…certainly not those by mad Dothraki. Leave before you lose something valuable."

Rhaego set his burning purple eyes on the other man. "Tomorrow my Khalasar comes to attack this place. When that happens you can stay here and rot until the end of time or you can join me in the escaping this hell and maybe even seeing your family again."

He saw the slightest twitch of the Tyroshi's eye when he mentioned his family and could see that the man was conflicted. He said nothing and nothing until finally he spoke. "How can I be sure you are not a liar? Or that you are not mad?"

The faintest of smiles crossed Rhaego's face at that. "You can't and you don't, but I'm not. I ask you this, is it better to face a certainty of life imprisonment or to instead a chance at seeing your family again?"

"I suppose I have nothing left to lose….what would you have us do?"

"Just wait until it starts, and then kill every guard you can see."

* * *

Getting the mute to join him had been of little difficulty. All Rhaego had to do was mention the amount of guards that would be vulnerable when his attack was launched and the maimed Lyseni had grinned broadly and huffed and hissed out words of agreement.

The Summer Islanders were a different matter. Ever since Rhaego had killed their leader they had turned against one another and were cautious around others, yet the young Khal had managed scare sense into them, at least enough for them to gather around and listen to what he had to say.

"You men have no lives; this prison sucked them out of you and left walking corpses. I can make you as you once were, I only ask that you follow me and fight those who would keep us in this dank, damp hell when my Khalasar comes for me on the morrow."

"But what if your men don't come," Asked a stout man with a messy stub for a nose. "It is said that horse lords are fickle and only follow their own strength, and what of the Bearded Priest up there, surely you don't mean to fight him unarmed."

Rhaego had harboured secret doubts of his own, but not of his men. His Khalasar would gladly die for him if need be and he had Jorah with them to keep them focused. No, the Priest that stood watch over them all, married to his axe, was the real concern yet Rhaego knew that if he allowed such doubts to grow then they would be his undoing.

So he slapped the other man twice across the face, sending him reeling. "The first was for questioning the loyalty of my riders, the second for your questioning of my prowess. If you try and speak out of turn again I'll make it so that you join your old leader in the dirt." He should not have hit the man so hard yet he needed to make it clear to them that he was the new force to which they owed submission. "My men will come on the morrow, and I will see that priest dead at my feet."

Picking their friend to his feet the men all gave solemn nods of agreement. "We will be ready." said the stout man.

Rhaego felt his own confidence growing with each of the prison clans that swore to aid him and thought that perhaps the gods were not so cruel as he had once thought, that or they had a mad sense of humour. He had given some final words to Togo and Jakerhro before being marched back into his cell by the bored looking guards. Once inside he lay down on his small bunk and tried to get what rest he could before the trials he would face on the morrow.

"So tell me, after you get your egg what then?" asked Gerion, stirring him from his brief respite.

"I'll return them to my mother in Pentos." He answered automatically.

The Lannister hummed at that. "You're quite single minded, but why go to all this effort for three lost gems? They're valuable I'll grant you that, but only a fool would push himself through hell for mere riches."

A low rumble of laughter erupted from Rhaego's throat. "Says the man who was born to the wealthiest family in the known world….though it is not the riches or fortune I seek. It's about paying a debt back to the woman who gave up everything for me. My mother is the rightful Queen of Westeros and the last true born Targaryen and now she lives at Pentos as a humbled guest."

Gerion gave him a curious look. "What of you?"

"I'm not so foolish to believe I would sit the Throne, I'm merely the son of some Dothraki. I know how to kill men, not rule them." he replied in a tired voice.

"Heh, modesty from one of Aerys kin, who would have thought?" he rubbed his golden beard. "Tell me of Daenerys Stormborn."

Rhaego gave the Lannister a dull look. "I'm not the one to ask, I've not seen her since I was small."

"I've heard tales of her kind nature and beauty….but then again when you're sailing with a bunch of rogues who haven't so much as seen a woman in months everyone becomes more beautiful and gracious in their minds…what I mean to ask is whether or not she takes after her father?"

The young Khal thought about it. "Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan have both compared her to my uncle Rhaegar."

A quiet smile settled over Gerion's face then and gave a happy nod before lying back down on his bunk. "What a queen that would be."

He had a pleasant, dreamless sleep that was cut short by the shouts and arguments that were echoing through the hallways just outside their cell. Gerion stood by the cell door listening intently and when he saw that Rhaego had awoken, he silently urged the man over.

Though Rhaego had little understanding of the Norvosi brand of Valyrian he could pick out the words _Dothraki_ and _attack_ easily enough and heard the rising panic in their voices as they hurried about. He glimpsed a torch moving closer as a guard made to run past, yet just as he did Gerion slid his arm out and around the man's neck quick as a snake, bringing the man up against the bars of the cell door.

"Easy there my friend, if you want to live to see the morrow then I'd suggest you hand us those keys." The Lannister's voice was oddly calm as if he were discussing the weather or a meal he had just eaten.

The man quickly fumbled with the keys that hung from his side and handed them up where Rhaego took them. As soon as they got their hands on the keys Gerion squeezed down tight on the guards throat until the man turned purple in the face before falling limp. After that they freed themselves from their holdings and quickly hurried out into the small corridor.

"Which way?" asked Rhaego.

"If we follow the tunnels behind us we should be able to get to every cell in this block, hopefully they won't have time to notice before it's too late."

And so they hurried along in the darkness, with only the occasional torch lighting their path. Dim as it was, the light was welcome in the otherwise blackness of the curving tunnel. Finally they came upon another collection of cells and went about unlocking the doors, the metal groaning in protest as Gerion swung them open. "Remember what you promised." He reminded them as they left their cells for the cramped hallway. On and on it went until finally they had all the prisoners marching behind them through the dark tunnels. Finally they emerged out a hole into the open pit and quietly made their way towards the giant stone staircase. They were halfway up when one of the guards spotted them and began shouting for help.

Just as the man made to load his crossbow Plyde the Mute leapt from his place on the steps over onto the railing where the guard stood and slowly pulled himself up until he was feet away from the crossbowman. However just as he made to strike the man he received a bolt to the stomach and fell to his knees uncomprehendingly.

The guard began the arduous process of reloading the weapon when suddenly two more prisoners followed their dead compatriot's lead and clambered up to him. He had barely wound the bolt when the men struck him and began stomping on his downed form. Soon they snatched the weapon away from the dead man and loaded up while Rhaego and the rest continued to climb the steep steps.

The commotion soon attracted more guards who came running in from one of the higher platforms and began unloading their bolts into the mass of angry prisoners, causing several of Rhaego's men to become pinned to the stone from where they had been struck yet soon enough the two Lyseni that had avenged Plyde went about unloading their own acquired crossbow at the guards, providing cover fire while the rest of the prisoners made their climb. Rhaego smiled at their bravery. _Undisciplined yes, but let no men ever question their courage…_

Rhaego finally made it to the very top of the staircase, yet he only took a single step before the Bearded Priest Shiro Kala emerged from the shadows, axe in hand. The look he gave was cold with promise and Rhaego could taste the beginnings of panic in the back of his throat before he quickly swallowed them down and returned the man's gaze with equal intensity, the noise of battle going on behind him forgotten.

"Are you just going to stand there or are you going to try and kill me?" he asked with a growl.

The man said nothing and swung his gargantuan axe in Rhaego's direction, his long arms providing an added reach for the already huge weapon. He felt the blade just narrowly brush past his face as he sidestepped and ducked left. He had no weapons at all to fight with other than his hands and even if he did by some miracle find something that could be used against the giant it would likely have done him little good against the power of that axe.

The axeman continued to swing his massive blade across and around while all Rhaego could do to duck and weave around the man's blows, though he was quickly losing his strength and energy. Eventually the Priest caught onto his manner of movements and reversed his thrust so that his axe swiped backwards, its curve slashing across Rhaego's unarmoured chest and sending a splash of red along the mighty weapon.

Upon feeling the throbbing pain on his chest, Rhaego found himself overwhelmed by an animalistic rage and suddenly rushed forwards with his fists ready. When the Axeman saw what he was doing he casually brought his blade downwards, hoping to cleave the young Dothraki right down the centre. As the blade fell Rhaego moved aside just enough so that the blade was but inches from his body and quickly took hold of the long steel handle.

The Bearded Priest looked at the Dothraki in utter confusion and tried to pry the great axe from Rhaego's grasp, yet the young Khal would not relent. A smile passed over his face as he realised that the man could not make use of his steel bride while Rhaego had hold of it and pulled the weapon with all his might.

Rhaego gritted his teeth and gave the Axeman a look of utter hatred as he struggled to pry the axe out of his large hands. "GIVE ME THE AXE!" he screamed before taking one hand off the handle and smashing a fist down on the priest's own clenched hands, causing a sickening pop to be heard as the knuckles moved out of their correct place.

The flash of pain that crossed through the man's body was just enough for Rhaego to seize the weapon out of his grasp and stumble back a few paces. Without breaking momentum the young Khal turned and swung the axe around and separated the priest's head from his body.

His whole body was trembling from the effort and the howls of dying men once again filled the air behind him but he allowed himself the briefest of moments to look down on his fallen opponent. He held up the axe to its previous owner's severed head. "I'm keeping this."


	7. Escape

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING**

**A/N: As always, thank you to everyone who left a review, it keeps me going**

The screams and howls of dying men filled the air. Prisoners and guardsmen alike cried out as they fought tooth and nail to have their vengeance upon each other. Rhaego stood atop the stone staircase, axe in hand and covered in his foe's blood; he took a breath and let his senses return to him. He had to find the Lannister or else all of the bloodshed he had unleashed would be for nought.

He stood over the edge of the stairs and caught sight of Gerion amidst the mass of scrambling prisoners. Rhaego narrowed his eyes. "Lannister, get up here!"

Gerion looked up at him in confusion before climbing up the bloody steps, careful to avoid the corpses that littered his path. When he got to the final two steps Rhaego could no longer wait for him anymore and leant down and pulled the man up by his arm and onto the top of the stairs. He laid there for a while trying to catch his breath when Rhaego gave him a sharp kick to the side. "Get up; I'll not spend any more time in this wretched place than I already have to."

"What about the others?" he asked in between breaths.

"They can come if they can keep up."

And with that the young Khal turned and ran down the centre tunnel that the axeman had emerged from, the Lannister hot on his heels. The darkness seemed less oppressive on this level and Rhaego found that he did not need a torch to see where he was going; behind him he could hear the limping footsteps of some of the prisoners who had made it past the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder once and was relieved to see his two bloodriders among the escapees. _We are not so easily killed…_

He could feel the breeze coming through the faint cracks now and knew that he was getting closer and closer to the surface so he doubled his pace and prayed to the Great Stallion that most of the guards would be outside the walls.

"That's a fancy new toy you have there." commented Gerion with a breathless chuckle.

Rhaego examined the massive axe, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth but he made no further response and continued to move carefully about in the winding tunnels. A faint sound caught his attention and he held out his weapon to halt the ones behind him. "_ Quiet."_ He hissed at them.

He took two tentative steps forward into the gloom and made out the shape of a figure approaching, their pace swift. Rhaego held up his axe in anticipation and waited. As the steps grew closer and closer he raised the weapon above his head, ready to cleave in half any man who came out of the darkness. It was only his self-restraint that stopped him from bringing the axe down on Jorah Mormont.

"Rhaego! By the gods!" shouted the old bear in surprise. "What the blazes are you doing running about with an axe?"

The young Khal shrugged. "Escaping."

Jorah nodded before glancing over at the twelve or so prisoners that had accompanied him and frowned slightly. "And you brought friends…. we must hurry, Tommo has horses for us up ahead."

And so they followed the old knight through the path until finally they saw the beginnings of daylight just up ahead and Jorah led them over to a battered wooden door that was surrounded by dead bodies, most of them guards but a few were Dothraki. Rhaego frowned at the sight. _You will ride with your ancestors my brothers, I swear it._

The doors hung open like an angry wound and the intensity of the sunlight was painful after spending so long trapped in darkness but Rhaego revelled in it none the less. After blinking the pain away and allowing his eyes to adjust Rhaego got a chance to see what destruction his Khalasar had unleashed upon the ancient prison.

Fires burned without restraint across the remains of guardhouse and the distant groans of agony were being carried on the wind. When he stepped out he was greeted by a rapture of cheers from his Khalasar before Tommo led over his red stallion. His steed seemed just as happy to see him as he was for it and stroked the creature's nose before mounting up. Once he was atop a horse once more he found himself at ease and quickly resumed command.

"Tommo, fetch horses for Togo and Jakerhro, and that one." He pointed to Gerion. "He is coming with us."

He noticed the prisoners were standing about unsure of themselves. The prison lay half a league away from the city, and they had little food or water. Rhaego lifted his axe high in the air with one arm. "You men are free to do as you wish, though some of your gaolers yet draw breath….perhaps you ought to correct that." And with that he turned his steed and led his Khalasar out into the dusty plains.

* * *

That night the men of Rhaego's Khalasar raised a huge tent just outside the outlying villages of Norvos. The men feasted on roast goat, legs of mutton and plenty of salted horse meat. Rhaego himself drank heartily of mare's milk and laughed with his men about the weakness of the Norvosi. When Gerion took a reluctant mouthful he grimaced immediately but dared not to refuse any of the warriors. When he got a chance away from his men he gestured for the Lannister to take up a seat beside him.

"You promised me the location of the dragon egg; I would hear it now, at once."

A flash of hesitation crossed over the Lannister's face and for a moment it looked as though he would not answer, but then the look was gone, replaced by a grin. "There is a shack, not two days east of here. Fahrio kept all his treasures there."

Rhaego grunted. "Then we shall ride there at first light."

Gerion bowed his head at that and said no more. The Khal stood on the pretence of needing to take a piss and made to leave the tent, on his way he stopped by Tommo and informed him to keep an eye on the golden haired man and to make sure that he did not leave his sight. Tommo nodded once and went back to his drink.

While outside Rhaego took a breath and looked up at the stars. His people believed that the stars were the souls of every great warrior, riding across the sky and every so often he would gaze up at them and wonder if his father was among them. _Perhaps one day I'll ride alongside him…_

"Rhaego." The voice of Jorah Mormont was wrought with agitation as he walked beside the young Khal. "Who is that man you have brought with us, Fahrio?"

"His old gambling partner," he explained. "He can lead us to where that slime hid the dragon egg."

Mormont frowned. "How can you be sure he's telling the truth?"

Rhaego returned a sour smile. "Because if he isn't I'll lash him to my horse and ride on until his feet are nought but bone."

* * *

They rode hard for a day and a half, barely giving any time for their horses to rest; such was the young Khal's desire to reclaim his prize. He had spent many long years scouring the trade routes and Free Cities for his mother's heirlooms and after so long he was at last about to take them back, the excitement gave him a wave of energy.

Every now and then he would make sure that they were on the right course with the Lannister, who would ride up front with Rhaego, pointing out various landmarks and recalling all that Fahrio had told him during their time imprisoned together. It made the Khal frown when Gerion sheepishly admitted that he only had the barest directions for the man's shack. He nearly had the man flogged for not telling him sooner but stayed his hand when Gerion assured him that he was certain to the location of their prize.

_He is quick to laugh and jape but the man is no fool,_ thought Rhaego. Despite his mocking nature the man had proved to be very useful during their time of shared imprisonment, though he still found himself having doubts about the man's loyalty.

Finally after what seemed like endless riding they finally came across a single derelict wood hut. The structure was no bigger than any of the hovels he had seen the peasants of Norvos live in, with old wood that looked as though most of it had gone rotten. Yet there seemed to be something strange about the structure and when they arrived he ordered two of his men to go forth and search for any surprises. Absently they kicked the door open and went inside and for a time there was silence before finally they came out looking at him slack jawed.

"It is empty blood of my blood," Said the elder of the two. "It is a single, empty room; home only to dust and spiders."

Rhaego closed his purple eyes and a let out a long breath before turning to the golden haired man at his side. "I told you what betrayal would cost; I hope your last jest was worth it." He unsheathed the mighty axe that hung from his back and let it lean against him, the promise of blood in the air.

Gerion Lannister took one glance at Rhaego's axe before laughing.

"Oh Khal of Khal's, why does your mind turn to betrayal so easily?" he dismounted from his horse and walked over to the hut. "Come inside if you would have your prize, I shall show you how foolish your men were."

Reluctantly Rhaego left his steed and walked after the Lannister, axe in hand. The air inside the hut was stuffy and full of cobwebs. Gerion seemed to be taking measured steps and after moving nine paces began feeling around in the dirt for something. At first Rhaego thought he was digging, but then he caught sight of a small rusted chain.

"I may need your assistance with this." He grunted as he tried pulling on the dangling piece of metal. The young Khal shrugged and snatched the chain from Gerion's hands and gave one strong tug and felt a slab of rock move beneath the ground and revealing a secret compartment in the ground. _Just like the tunnels in Maegor's Holdfast,_ thought Rhaego as he glanced down the hole.

Gerion dusted off his hands and pointed into the small dark pit. "Fahrio may have been a drunk, but he wasn't stupid. He hid his treasures right underneath our feet."

Rhaego called out for Jorah and the others to bring torches and rope and after a beat the men came in with exactly that. As soon as Jakerhro shone his torch into the pit they gasped in wonder. Inside laid a small fortune of gold, silver and jewels beyond counting. It was like an ocean of gold interspersed with flicks of ruby, emerald and sapphire with dozens of items that looked to be straight from the vaults of some long dead Valyrian king, yet Rhaego only had eyes for one thing.

Nestled amongst a nest of silver chalices and gemstones sat a single crimson dragon's egg, like the one Rhaego had seen inside his dreams for years. _It has been waiting for me_, he thought,_ waiting to come home…_

He was about to command his men to climb to down when suddenly Gerion turned to him anxiously. "You may have the dragon egg, but I led you here. I would ask to have first choosing from that wealth, as payment."

"You will have your due," he promised Gerion, "but first I would have mine." He signalled for one of his men to climb down the ropes and stood by eagerly as the man clutched the ancient stone to his body before handing it over to the Khal.

It felt warm, warmer than anything else had ever laid his hands upon and in that moment he knew that the gods, whoever they may be, were smiling on him

* * *

"What do you intend to do now?"

The question had caught Rhaego off guard when Gerion sat down beside him that night at the camp fire; he had been so focused on his goal that he gave little thought to anything else. He supposed that he would return to Pentos with the eggs and deliver them to his mother, though that was not an encounter Rhaego was looking forward to. He had found strength in the harsh brutality of his life and was not eager to live in a gilded cage. _I am no prince, _he decided. _The open lands are the only kingdom I need…_

"I shall return the dragon eggs to Pentos and then continue on as I have always done." He proclaimed.

Gerion chuckled at that and took a mouthful of mare's milk. "I must admit, we make quite a team. With my wits and your brutality we could go far."

The Khal raised a brow. "What do you propose? There's not much glory to be had in grave robbing."

"I wasn't always in that prison you know, I came to the east many years ago to sail to Valyria and reclaim my family's ancestral blade from the smoking ruins of the Freehold…"

"A fools errant; Valyria is cursed." said Ser Jorah as he sat down across from the two men, a cautious look on his hairy face.

The Lannister smiled thinly at that. "Aye, it is a cursed place. Haunted by monsters and demons…..but I _have_ been there Ser Bear, and I have seen its wonders." To prove his point the golden haired man rolled up the sleeves of his tunic, revealing a series of Valyrian glyphs tattooed across his pale flesh, the dozens of crudely made scars littering every inch of his arm and leading towards his chest.

"I was lost on that desolate rock for years, unable to find my way and half mad from the constant screaming that haunted the night air….until I came across a ruin, the broken remnant of some Dragonlord's castle." His eyes looked past Rhaego and Jorah to a distant time. "Perhaps it was home to one of the forty families that ruled Valyria, though when I stumbled in looking for shelter I merely found a garden of statues….men, women and children all reduced to stone by the molten flames of the doom….yet amongst that fiery stone I found a cache of treasure, valuables beyond reckoning and the sword of my ancestors, even a dragon egg." He broke from his reverie and let out a low chuckle. "All of that gold and no way to take it back to Westeros, the Seven have a great sense of humour…..that was until I was met by a stranger, a pirate from Westeros who offered to take me home with him in exchange for half of my treasure."

"Who was he?" asked Rhaego curiously.

A deep scowl crossed the Lannister's face and he spat in distaste. "An Iron Islander, he betrayed me readily enough with a knife between my ribs, though not before I spirited away a portion of the bounty along the coast of Volantis," his emerald eyes flicked over to Rhaego, "if you and your Khalasar give me aid in retrieving it I'll share some of the spoils, you have my word on that. A Lannister always pays his debts."

Mormont had his sword out in an instant and pointed at Gerion's throat. "Do you think I am a fool? He may not know what your kin are capable of but I do!"

Rhaego rose to his feet and quickly snatched the blade from Jorah's hands. "I already knew he was a Lannister, and I know that without him I'd probably still be out there looking for a dragon egg that I would never find."

Mormont's eyes widened in betrayal, "This man is the kin of your enemies! His brother ordered the death of your two infant cousins, his nephew murdered your grandfather in cold blood, I saw what Tywin Lannister did to King's Landing….you _cannot_ trust him!"

"Trust is a hard thing to come by Jorah, though if it was up to you I would trust no one and would have gone crawling back to my mother in Pentos long ago like a beaten cur. _No._ If what Gerion says is true then I would possess treasures from the heart of Valyria itself. There is glory in that."

Jorah shook his head, "This path is madness, and you have your thrice damned dragon eggs, why not return them to your Mother like you've been saying all this time instead of wasting your life on some fools adventure with a fucking Lannister of all people!?"

The young Khal had enough then and rested a hand on Mormont's shoulder, pressing down just enough to make the old bear wince. "You have complained about returning to Pentos for the last seven years, and for what, to see my mother again to satisfy your lusts?" Rhaego's eyes became twin storms of purple. "I think I've suffered through quite enough of your advice."

"Lad please I-"

"Call me lad again and I'll break your legs." He warned.

Rhaego turned to the rest of his Khalasar who were cautiously watching him from their drinks; no doubt they were unsure of what to make of their Khal threatening the Andal who had ridden with them for so long. "Togo, you will take twenty men and accompany Jorah the Andal back to Pentos, back to the Khaleesi and see that the dragon eggs are delivered safely. The rest of us are riding for Volantis where plunder and glory await us!"

A great cry went up at his words. The Khal answered with a nod, and raised his horn of mare's milk high and took a deep chug. The drink filled his stomach and fire filled his heart and he gave a triumphant roar into the night sky.


	8. Ghost Stories

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**A/N: As always big thank you to everyone who reviewed, they keep me inspired.**

Tomo and his five men appeared alone at daybreak. Their shadowy figures stood out against the pink skies of morning.

_Only five of them,_ Rhaego thought sourly as he watched the men ride towards him through the long dusty plains. He cursed under his breath and clenched his fists tight at his sides, his rage a black weight in his belly.

They had ridden out from the ruins of the Fahrio's shack with eighty of the hundred that had made up his Khalasar. The other twenty men had ridden west to Pentos to return the dragon eggs to his mother, where they would stay as part of her honour guard. _Along with Ser Jorah,_ the thought agitated him. The Bear Knight had been by his side for most of his life and his absence had been sorely felt though the old man had only become a nuisance of late and it was better for them all if he was gone from Rhaego's sight. With his eighty men the Khal had ridden southeast to Volantis following Gerion Lannister's map to his supposed treasure, though along the way they were besieged by sand storms and his horde scattered.

What men he had left had made camp amongst the great grass sea, where they sat in wait for their missing brothers. He had sent out four riders to search for the stragglers though they helped but little. Tiargo returned empty handed three days previous. The day before that Jogo returned with half a dozen of his people, though most were near blind from the sands that had battered them and their steeds. The day before and the day before there had been nothing and Rhaego feared them dead until finally Tomo returned.

"They were lost amongst the storm," Tomo had explained. "They were cut off from the rest of the Khalasar and lost out in the desert away from the great grass sea. We have travelled too far from the grass; blood of my blood, this lion leads us astray."

Rhaego had almost agreed with him, given the bout of bad luck they had suffered, but refused to give up. Giving up would mean admitting that he was too weak to do anything on his own and if there was one thing that the world had taught him it was that the weak died miserable deaths.

So in the end he sent Tomo a withering glance and said, "The lion does as I command and so do you, we will wait here for another day and then push on with or without the stragglers."

And wait they did, for a day and a night. During the day Rhaego led a few of his riders out hunting amongst the edge of the Great Grass Sea, game was scarce save for the occasional pack of wild dogs. They also came across a lone Hrakkar roaming through the tall grass and Rhaego declared that he would kill the beast just as his father had once done. It was a bold creature, attacking them without hesitation and the Khal thought that the beast must have never seen man before to not feel fear. He soon cut the beast down and made a necklace of its teeth.

"You should have come with us Lannister," he told Gerion when he returned to camp. "You could have seen what a true lion looks like."

The golden haired man had given Rhaego a thin smile and said, "I think I'll settle for the painted kind instead."

Soon the excitement from the hunt had died down and his Khalasar was growing lax so on the first light of the second day he ordered the horde onwards, like a long copper serpent emerging from its nest. They covered twenty-two miles that day, by the reckoning of Gerion Lannister. The second day they made twenty, sweeping down towards the river Rhoyne. _Good progress_, Rhaego had thought, but then the rains picked up.

It was only a light drizzle on the first day, gentle as a lovers kiss. But it grew heavy the next day, and even heavier the day after that. Soon the heavy wet winds became a lash as cruel as any slaver's whip and travel became a burden. They set up a camp as best they could amongst the flurry of rain but soon found that the tents were hard to raise and harder to take down, and even those were prone to blowing loose if the winds struck at it hard enough.

After two days the storm did not abate and Rhaego's Khalasar found itself slowing to a crawl and the Khal wondered how long it would be before illness spread through his ranks. Even the horses found it difficult to move through the slush the ground had turned to. A cold damp fog had settled in on the fourth day, robbing them of even basic sight in the wet darkness.

"We should head for the Mother Rhoyne," urged Gerion on the fifth night as they sat huddled together in a meagre tent. "We can simply move in a straight line all the way down to Volantis then."

The Idea had its merits, but Rhaego had heard plenty of stories coming from that accursed river, stories of blood and agony. _Stories of the stone men,_ the thought sent a chill down the Khal's spine. "The storm will end soon." was all he said.

Yet it seemed that the Great Stallion did not agree with Rhaego's ideas and the rain only continued to pound harder at them. His men were starting to look a sorry lot, their once copper skin pale from cold and illness. It was not often that Dothraki were used to such conditions. Fortune smiled on them the seventh day and they came across a great ruin, an ancient keep that was half collapsed and overgrown with moss and vines. Around the domed rock were several piles of rubble that Rhaego assumed were once walls and archways. A single small tower stood beside the ruins, its windows penetrated with dozens of invading vines, looking like two empty eye sockets.

Rhaego ordered his men to set up camp amongst the ruins and make shelter in the hollowed out castles and went about setting up men to stand guard on the crumbling battlements. He could recognise by the shape and carvings of the ancient stone that it was a Rhoynish structure they using, and that meant that the great river was not far. "I'll not have any of those Stone men bring plague amongst my people_," _he told his archers. "Keep your eyes sharp and make sure to kill anything that approaches."

They had all settled down around a fire in the ruins of the Rhoynish keep, chewing away at dried horse meat and trying to keep up conversation with one another, though many were too sick and tired to do much more than sleep. Outside the rain continued to batter away at everything and seeped through some of the holes that had littered the partially destroyed roof, leaving puddles all about. The wind made a nervous whistling sound as it shivered through the broken towers and the walls groaned sorrowfully around them.

"This place smells….evil, blood of my blood," Jakerhro said before pulling a blanket tight around his shoulders.

"This place smells like an old ruin with dozens of Dothraki cramped into it," said Gerion before tearing into a darkened piece of horse meat. Despite everything the Lannister seemed to be in high spirits. "The Rhoynar built places like this hundreds of years ago, before the Valyrians expanded from their Freehold and destroyed them. Prince Garin led a quarter of a million men in an effort to stop them and their dragons, but of course those men all died screaming and Garin was taken by the Valyrians and hung inside a golden cage to mock him and his people."

Jakerhro grinned at that. "Did the fool die for his idiocy?"

The Lannister's green eyes trailed off for a moment before he gave a slight chuckle. "Quite the opposite, as the Dragonlords laughed Garin called out to Mother Rhoyne, begging for her to destroy them. That very night the river rose high and drowned all of the invaders. They say that the souls of those arrogant Valyrians still linger beneath the waves and the fog is their breath rising from the water. Garin himself is said to still rule amongst these forgotten places, his curse afflicting all who come too close."

Many of the other men had fallen silent to listen to the golden haired man's tale; they all seemed rapt in attention. Rhaego could see faint traces of fear in the eyes of some of them and said, "The only curse that is upon these lands is Greyscale, and even those afflicted die just like any other man."

"Aye, it is nothing more than a legend told by those who fear the past," agreed Gerion. "But all good stories have a kernel of truth to them and old places should be treated with respect, even this ruin."

Rhaego was about to speak when somewhere in the darkness he heard a horse whicker. The Khal frowned at the sound and tried to listen again but heard nothing. "I respect the people who built this place just as you do," he said firmly. "These people were kin to me, or do you forget Myriah Martell?"

That got a laugh out of the Lannister and flashed a toothy grin. "It's funny isn't it? The Valyrians drove the Rhoynar to the West, only to end up marrying their descendants' centuries later."

The Khal rolled his eyes at that and went back to his food. He found himself stoping mid bite. _There's that horse again._ "Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That horse…no, horses." he turned his head, listening. The rain did queer things to sound and it was difficult to know which direction it was coming from. Rhaego focused and stood away from the fire, cursing under his breath as he hurried out of the gloomy ruin and into the drenched courtyard. The Khalasar had erected a shelter for their steeds to keep them dry and all of the beasts seemed to be sleeping. That was not where the sound was coming from.

He rushed up amongst the crumbled battlements, axe in hand to stand beside his sentries. "What is it?" he demanded.

But Rhaego saw for himself before the men could respond. At first it seemed like a series of shadows jumping around in the darkness of night but when he allowed his eyes to adjust he spotted the familiar outline of men on horseback. _My missing riders,_ he realized with a smile.

His missing ten were all looking very wet and very uncomfortable when they arrived, but otherwise unhurt and he waved them into the heart of the ruins. "Blood of my blood," said the leader when Rhaego appeared. "This is Mylessa. A gift to us from the Great Stallion."

The Khal had not noticed the woman that was sitting behind his bloodrider but once he spotted her red figure his purple eyes widened in shock and familiarity. The woman was draped completely in crimson silk which was only a few shades darker than her long auburn hair. The clothes seemed to move like a flames around her as she leapt down gracefully from the horse and as she approached Rhaego couldn't help but notice her slim waist and full breasts. Her heart-shaped face seemed as if it was carved from white marble, and her cheek bones seemed as delicate as glass. Her eyes however seemed to betray the rest of her, twin sapphires amongst all the red.

"We found her in the deserts walking alone," Said the rider. "She _knows_ things. She knew that we were part of your Khalasar before any man could tell her, and she knew you'd be waiting in this ruin."

Rhaego stood transfixed at the woman, her unearthly beauty illuminating the night sky. To his great surprise he noticed that when the rain touched her bare skin it _steamed._ Yet she stood there, still as statue with her blue eyes set on his, the faintest of smiles tugging at her delicate mouth.

"Are you a sorceress my lady?" Rhaego asked the exotic woman.

"No, my prince," the woman answered in the common tongue. Her voice was sonorous and sweet, sending warmth through the night air. "I am merely a servant of R'hllor, sent to aid you."

_A red priestess. _Rhaego had grown up around such types in Pentos and was often afraid of their great night fires when he was a child. He was not afraid now. "Why would a red priestess want to help me?" he asked cautiously.

Her smile only deepened at that. "Because you are the Lord's chosen; Azor Ahai reborn."


	9. Gods

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**A/N: the Reviews are very much appreciated!**

The darkness of the Hallway seemed to shy away as soon as the red woman entered.

The meagre fires that Rhaego's men had huddled around soon swelled in size and warmth as the Red Priestess made her approach. The Khal felt warm as well. A queer flush running through his body as the young woman draped in crimson hovered beside him, the way one does when spent too long in the sun.

_The very air shimmers around her,_ Rhaego observed. _She is flame itself._

As soon as Gerion spotted them he immediately got to his feet and stared at Mylessa is if she was Balerion the Dread come again. "Who is this?" His voice had a sudden tremor through it as he spoke, and the Lannister would not take his green eyes off of the woman at Rhaego's side.

"A red priestess," Rhaego replied. "She saved our lost men."

The red woman laughed. "R'hllor saved your men my prince, I was merely his instrument."

The young Khal wasn't sure what to make of that yet gave a brief nod in acknowledgment. He noticed that Gerion was shaking slightly, something he thought was odd given the man's fearlessness during their escape from Norvos. _What could frighten a man who has been to Valyria and back?_

Finally the Lannister swallowed and tore his gaze away from the red spectre and looked up at Rhaego. "Is she to come with us?"

Rhaego hesitated for a moment but felt the warmth swell in his chest again and nodded to his golden haired companion. "Aye, she's coming."

"I have seen you in the nightfires, Khal Rhaego. You come riding through the flames astride a great red stallion, your mighty axe in hand, and with the very stars themselves bleeding above you as dragons awaken from stone and cry out in joy at the strength of your light. It is as the prophecy foretold. You are the son of fire, Azor Ahai reborn."

"_Prophecy?"_ Rhaego bristled. "I have had the shroud of prophecy bestowed upon me once before woman, and it did little to save my father or spare my mother a life of fear." He gave a deep sigh and gestured out into the howling rain. "Either way it makes little difference; we won't be going anywhere in that."

Mylessa's lips curved upward in a smile. "The sun will return on the morrow and the Lord's light will shine down upon us all, my prince."

"We shall see."

* * *

And so it came to pass. Just as quickly as they came so did the rains suddenly stop and the skies began to clear and the sun cast its light over the land. The red woman had smiled knowingly at him that morning and Rhaego heard many of his men muttering to each other in curses and fear of the red sorceress that had joined their company. Not wanting to linger, the Khal ordered his people pack their things and be ready to leave immediately. As Rhaego attended his red stallion he caught Gerion looking off, a worried expression on his golden features.

"I don't trust her," he confessed as they rode out, and he was certain the priestess could not hear. "The worshipers of R'hllor are fanatics who burn men, women and _children_ alive to feed their fire god. How do you know that she doesn't seek to give you to the flames also?"

A rumble of laughter rose up from Rhaego's belly and he gripped the large axe that was sheathed on his back. "_This_ is how I know."

For once the Lannister did not join in on his laughter. "There are ghosts in Valyria, and when I first saw her last night I swear I had seen a ghost, a woman long dead from my homeland….her _eyes_ Rhaego, did you see her eyes?"

"They were blue, what of it?" he asked.

Gerion's bearded face fell into a deep frown. "Red hair and blue eyes, I know a great House of Westeros that carries those traits," a look of recognition crossed his face for a moment before vanishing. "Just…be careful will you?"

Rhaego snorted at the other man's fear and instead turned his eyes back to the horizon. They were following along the great river Rhoyne as he had urged and were four days ride from Volantis. _And the gold,_ remembered Rhaego, _Treasures from the Freehold. _It was an enticing idea.

They spotted game during the second day of riding, a small collection of pigs hiding amongst the weeds of the Rhoyne. They were big ugly beasts, with tusks as long as a child's arm and a temperament to match, something that his riders took great pride in after they had killed the beasts. It had been weeks since Rhaego had eaten anything other than dry horse meat and his stomach rumbled loudly in yearning when they went about roasting the creatures.

The sun was setting and the sky turning a shade of purple, when Mylessa approached him. Rhaego could smell her before he saw her, the scent of fire and smoke and blood. The wind got in amongst her long red robes and sent them flapping about, as though they were flames dancing and twirling about. She was slender, yet formed like a stone goddess; at once lithe and voluptuous. Her face seemed impassive yet cheerful in a way he could not explain. _She's beautiful,_ he thought….though there was something about her eyes, blue amidst a sea of red that seemed to stare deep into ones soul.

"My lady," he said, putting aside the bone of pork he was chewing on. "What do you need?"

Her red lips parted as she stared down into his sombre menacing eyes. "My prince, I ask for your permission to start a nightfire and give my thanks to R'hllor for the day just past."

Rhaego met her stare and was silent for a time before finally giving a dismissive nod. "Do as you please my lady, just don't expect us to offer up any sacrifices."

That warranted a melodious laugh. "I am sure that I will make due."

And so she did, with the aid of a few of Rhaego's riders Mylessa built herself a grand pyre and stood before the flames with a gleam of joy in her eye. The nightfire burned against the gathering dark, a great bright beast whose shifting orange light threw shadows twenty feet tall across the camp. Rhaego looked over at the woman from his seat, his food long forgotten.

Mylessa lifted her arms almost like a lover's embrace. "R'hllor," she sang in a clear voice, "we thank you for the bright sun that warms our days, and for the moon and stars that watch us in the night. Lord of Light, defend us, your humble servants. The night is dark and full of terrors."

While her voice called out into the night alone, Rhaego noticed that a few of his riders were watching her in rapt attention and he made sure to take note of them. The ceremony continued on until the last remnants of the daylight had vanished and the only colour in the otherwise black night belonged to the golden orange flames. Afterwards the red woman walked over to Rhaego and sat down beside him without a word.

"Did you see anything in your fires tonight my lady?" he asked after a time.

She smiled enigmatically at that. "Much and more, an army of sellswords gathering around Braavos, and the harpy stirring itself in the far east," Mylessa paused and took a moment to study Rhaego's face, her blue eyes searching for something. "Your lion's gold will be yours soon enough."

* * *

By the time they reached Volantis days later, the sky was purple to the west and black to the east, the stars were coming out. The red woman would say that those stars were guides sent from R'hllor and Rhaego's people said they were the souls of the dead in the Nightlands. Either way he found them beautiful.

Volantis closed its gates at dark, and the few guardsmen on its northern gate were grumbling impatiently at the stragglers. Once they saw Rhaego and his Dothraki ride up they instantly kept their weapons at the ready and eyed them cautiously. "What business do you have in Volantis horselord?" one asked with thinly veiled disgust. "Your Khalasar is too few to demand homage."

Rhaego struggled to hold his tongue and allowed Gerion to do the talking. "We are simply seeking to enter your beautiful city-"

"You seek to bring savages amongst the civilized grandeur of Volantis," cut off the guard. "I would be doing a disservice to the first daughter of Valyria if I allow such scum to roam its streets."

The Khal moved his hands to his axe, ready to fight his way through when suddenly Mylessa came forth, dismounting her horse and striding up to the guard without fear. Rhaego almost made to stop her but something in the way she stared up at the other man stayed his hand.

"R'hllor has sent us here brave warrior," her eyes shone like blue flames. "These savages are to be given to him at the great temple."

The guard clenched his jaw tightly and looked from the red priestess standing before him and then at the Dothraki at her back. After a moment of tension he spat in distaste before waving them through with his torch. After they entered the city and were out of sight Rhaego looked at Mylessa in confusion. "The faithful are strong in lovely Volantis, his majesty holds much sway," She replied with a chuckle. "They will take us in at the Temple of the Lord of Light; I will make sure of it."

Inside the city walls, they rode past guildhalls, markets, and bathhouses. Fountains splashed and sang in the centres of wide squares, where men sat at stone tables playing Cyvasse and sipping wine from glass flutes as slaves lit ornate lanterns to ward off the darkness of night. Palms and cedars grew along the cobbled road, and monuments stood at every junction.

They moved at a slow pace through the crowded streets and it was well and truly dark when they came upon the ancient structure. An enormity of pillars, steps, bridges, domes and towers flowing in and out of one another in a way that seemed as if the entire building had been carved from a single massive rock. Its slender towers twisted upwards much like flames would.

Fires burned beside the temple steps and torches hung from every wall, bathing the building in its light and casting twisted and frightening shadows across the yard. When they came upon it Mylessa sighed with genuine disappointment. "A shame, had we arrived earlier we could have seen the High Priest give his sermon."

As they approached the massive steps Rhaego caught sight of a line of men in ornate armour and orange cloaks. They stood before the temple's doors, clasping spears and watching as the Dothraki came closer. Without saying a word Mylessa dismounted and walked up the steps and said something softly to the men in a language that Rhaego could not make out and after a beat the orange knights stood aside and the doors opened. Two score children came out and after hearing an instruction from Mylessa followed her down the steps back to the Khalasar. Rhaego noticed that each child had a flame tattooed onto his or her face, marking them as slaves.

"They will see to your horses," explained Mylessa. "You and your riders are welcome to R'hllor's hospitality."

As they walked through the large doors the red priestess slipped her arm through Rhaego's. Part of him wanted to be outraged at how casual she was being with him but he also found her warmth oddly comforting and instead turned his attention to the grand structure before them. Various torches hung suspended above them in two long rows from the doors all the way up to the temple proper. Waiting up ahead for them was a tall man with skin the colour of sour milk and a great brown beard that hung down in two forks. Much like Mylessa he was also draped in crimson robes. He said a single, strange word in what Rhaego assumed was the tongue of Asshai and the woman responded with another single word.

The man turned his attention to Rhaego with a faint smile. "Welcome my friend," he said in Dothraki. "We never turn away warriors of Light."

The Khal gave a slight nod in acknowledgement but said nothing else. There was something about the man that he misliked. _Best let them talk amongst each other for now,_ he thought. _Ser Barristan always told me that it was better to remain silent when amongst those who might mean you harm…_

After a brief exchange of words between the two followers of R'hllor, Rhaego and his men were all escorted to their sleeping chambers. They were small rooms, and sparse aside from the thin mattresses and small candles that sat beside them, however as Rhaego made to enter he felt the soft touch of the Red Woman's hand on his arm.

"These are the quarters for your riders, you shall be given chambers much more befitting your status," she explained.

He was hesitant but reluctantly followed her down the long hallway to a much larger room. It was not dissimilar to the rooms Magister Illyrio had bestowed upon him and his mother when he was a child. He had his very own wash room, a solar and grand bedroom that was ornately decorated and coloured in hues of red, orange, and gold.

Rhaego suddenly found himself alone with the red woman who was watching him carefully. He felt as though he was surrounded by this priestess and her red god. _I'm in the belly of the beast now,_ he thought tensely. After a moment he couldn't help but voice his thoughts, "Why did you bring us here? I would hear the truth, why do you think I am your messiah?"

Mylessa bit her lip, an action that Rhaego found oddly comforting, and took a breath before speaking. "You are born from the Targaryen blood line, on the day of your birth it was said that a red comet tore across the sky and that you were born as the Dothraki gave your father's body to the flames. The tears of your mother mingled with the smoke of your father. Born amidst salt and smoke and…more importantly, I have _seen_ you in the flames. R'hllor has shown me his warrior."

"I'm no hero or saviour," he answered. "My people worship the Great Stallion; they told my parents that I was to be the Stallion Who Mounts the World, that I would be the Khal of Khals. That has not happened, and I have been living as a nomad for years. Gods and prophecies, they're all bigger than I. Let me enjoy life as it is; the taste of wine and rich meats, the hot embrace of a woman in my arms and the mad rush of battle. That is what I live for my lady, not the whims of a God."

A sad smile crept along the woman's face then and for once she seemed as if her façade of mystique had slipped. "Perhaps that is all that he wants from you."


	10. Cruelty

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N: thank you everyone who left a review, it keeps me inspired.**

"Are you certain?"

The Lannister looked down at his little map before squinting over at the coastline. He did this two or three more times, tilting his head and trying to get a better view of the cliffs before finally smiling broadly and giving an eager nod. "Aye, it's amongst these caves."

Rhaego wasn't so certain and had consulted with the Red woman to see if her fires would reveal anything. He found that as of late he had often begun looking to the priestess for answers, though he was disappointed more often than not. "The flames show many things my prince," she had told him. "Sometimes R'hllor may grant us visions of the future, sometimes he sends us visions of the distant past. It is up to the reader to make sense of them, and unlike mighty R'hllor we mortals are flawed."

Yet when he asked her to look in the flames this time she returned to him with a proud smile. "Your lion has the right of it; you will find what you seek in a cave along the cliff."

The Khal gave her the briefest look of approval before turning his gaze to the rocky caves that littered the bottom of the cliff. The tide came in very close there and Rhaego could see that if they were inside during high tide there was a very real chance that his men would drown. _Do I dare risk their lives for mere treasure?_ He brooded on that for a while, imagining the terror his riders would feel if they were submerged in water that their horses could not drink. Queen Daenerys had taught Rhaego when he was a child that there was nothing to fear from the sea, but he knew trying to tell his men that would do little good.

After a time he finally spoke. "Lannister, you and I shall go on alone. The men will warn us when the tide begins to rise."

If Gerion had any complaints with his orders then he did not let them reach his face, instead he gave a stiff nod and went about removing his tunic and boots. Rhaego took off his leathered vest and hide boots, handing them over to Jakerhro. When they were ready the two companions travelled along the shore, trudging slowly through the sand. The sea water lapped up around their ankles when they finally came to the caves.

"Which one has the gold?" Rhaego asked.

The gold haired man frowned a little and stared into the rock formations for a long time before finally answering. "The one on the far left."

It was dark in the caves, so dark that Rhaego could only vaguely make out what was three feet in front of him, yet the Lannister moved with a confidence and sureness of step. Finally after a half dozen turns they finally came upon a dead end….and a large, ancient chest. It was covered in glyphs that matched those on the Lannister's chest, though most were covered by years of moss.

The lid was half eroded away and malformed but Rhaego managed to tear it off of the chest and bask in what it held. There was gold yes and silver too. Various gemstones also speckled the bundle of gold, but what caught the Khal's eye was a long dark thing, ornately carved and with dragons at the base of the hilt. Rhaego pulled the sheath away and admired the blade with awe, his eyes flickered down to the runes that were engraved near the handle, it was vaguely Valyrian yet he could not read them.

Beside him Gerion had snatched his own sword from the plunder, one that was similar to one held in Rhaego's hand, only with a lion's head for a pommel. The man closed his eyes for a moment and pressed the sheathed weapon against his forehead, to Rhaego's surprise the Lannister was _crying._

"It took me half my life to find this," he explained, wiping away the tears. "I travelled thousands of miles and saw things that no man should ever witness, and….I left my little girl behind, all for this."

Rhaego grunted and looked back down at the chest. There was more than enough bounty to keep his Khalasar happy and the Khal thought that he would like to keep the sword as his own while Gerion had his trinkets and mementos. Moving the chest from its home was a challenge. Rhaego was by all accounts a big man, and he had done his share of heavy lifting in the past, but never while trying to navigate through a dark tunnel that contained several unexpected turns. In the end he managed to move it out with Gerion's help and the Khalasar greeted them with a small cheer.

He took his vest and boots back from Jakerhro and allowed his men their share of the gold after Gerion had taken what he wanted. Mylessa approached him as he was struggling with a boot, a small smile at her lips. "That is a lovely sword my prince," she said. "May I see it?"

"Do as you will." He answered with a grunt.

The red priestess examined the sword closely. "All great heroes deserve a great sword, what is its name?"

"I know not," he said before finally rising to full height and shrugging on his vest. "Swords are not my preferred weapon." He thought of his great axe and wondered whether he would get a chance to feed it anymore blood. He hoped so.

* * *

After spending a few days near Volantis, Rhaego turned his Khalasar back to the Dothraki Sea. Though his bloodriders would question him, the Khal felt a bizarre obligation to the Lamb men for helping him on his way to Qarth, so he felt he owed it to them to at least give some coin for their troubles. The travelling was good and Rhaego could sense a calm settling over his men as they slowly moved along the familiar paths of their homelands. Even Lady Mylessa and her nightfires were becoming an accepted part of their life, and Rhaego noticed that a few of his men even took to standing with the woman as she sang her prayers.

"Have I met you before my lady?" asked Gerion one day.

Mylessa looked at the Lannister in confusion. "I do not think we have my lord, R'hllor has no temples in Westeros."

The golden haired man simply frowned. "As you say."

It was not the first time that the man had mentioned a familiarity towards the red priestess and Rhaego wondered why he kept going on about it. _He seems haunted_, the Khal reflected as he watched the Lannister's uneasy face.

"Back in that cave, you mentioned a daughter," said Rhaego when it was just him and his former cellmate riding ahead of the others. "I never knew you had children."

The usual gleam of energy left Gerion's face at that and he gave a sad nod. "Aye, a bastard daughter," he said after a time. "Her name is Joy, and she was barely four years old when I set off to find Brightroar."

For some reason that angered Rhaego, and he could not stop himself from asking, "Why would you sail to Valyria when you had a four year old daughter who needed you?"

Gerion winced at the Khal's words and he looked ashamed. "I thought…..that if I could reclaim this sword, the sword of my ancestors….if I could travel to Valyria and live to tell about it then perhaps some warmth would return to my House." His emerald eyes met Rhaego then. "We Lannisters are not the smiling, happy liars that men would call us. My father shamed us all and Tywin became a monster by trying to wipe away that shame."

"And you thought that a sword could solve all of your-" a sudden wind hit them then, powerful and carrying the stench of death and smoke on its wings. He turned his head to its direction and saw flames in the distance, plumes of greasy smoke coiling upward like great black snakes. _The Lhazareen_, he realized with a curse.

By the time they reached the village it was too late. In all his years Rhaego had seen much, but what he saw in that village was the closest thing to hell he had ever known. The local stream was choked with corpses. Several men were impaled upon stakes near the gates, maggots eating away at their eyes and face. The meagre huts that the Lamb Men had called home were mostly burnt to the ground, along with those few who had chosen to hide inside them, their bodies naught but blackened bones. Dogs were fighting over the head of one of the village elders while his body sat perched upon a cross, cut open from balls to throat.

Beside him Gerion wretched and several of his Kos weren't looking much better. Rhaego simply looked down at the mutilated bodies with practiced indifference, yet inside he felt a fire brewing in his heart. The Khal had no illusions about his own people's brutality but what was before him was more than rape and plunder, it was butchery.

Suddenly there was a terrible cry that rang out through the air, so long and agonising in its sound that it set their teeth on edge. It was the voice of a child. Before any of them had any time to react, Mylessa leapt from her horse and ran towards the sound. _Foolish woman_, thought Rhaego with a growl before following her.

What he saw when he found her would stay with him until the end of his days. Several of the little ones, children no older than five or six, nailed hand and foot along the support arch of the local temple. It was there that he found the source of the cries. A little girl hung from the wooden beam, red faced and screaming out in pain. Mylessa was already reaching up to try and pull the nails free but was struggling to do so, the whole time she was whispering reassurances to the child. Rhaego hurried up to help her and used a dirk to pry the pieces of metal out, careful not to hurt the girl any more than he had to.

Mylessa took the child in her arms once she was free, keeping her in a tight embrace in a desperate attempt to calm her screaming form. Rhaego had his men bring a skin of water over and gave the child a drink. After a time the girl finally stopped crying and fell asleep in the Red woman's arms, her little face tucked into the crimson robes.

"She needs to see a healer," said Gerion quietly. "Gods know how long she was up there."

Rhaego nodded grimly. "I'll have Joko inspect her wounds after she has settled. For now let her rest."

"Who could have done this thing?" asked Jakerhro.

Gerion's face soured and he spat in distaste. "Slavers most likely, there are lot of dead people here but not an entire village worth. No doubt the others were taken off to be sold at some auction, mayhaps in Volantis or Lys, though Slaver's Bay is likely where they'd end up."

Rhaego clenched his massive fists. "Cowards, the lot of them" he growled before brushing his thumb over his large axe. "Children and old men are one thing, but a fully armed man is another." He had the sudden urge to kill something. "Take the rest of the bodies down and burn them."

That night they made camp outside of the village, as far away from the smell as they could and tried to push away the images they had seen with drink and song. Try as he might, the Khal knew that he was not likely to forget the death he had seen any time soon, no matter how many drinks he had. _Sleep won't be fun tonight,_ he mused bitterly while making his rounds of the camp. He had Joko make poultices for the girl's hands and feet, though applying them was easier said than done as the child kicked and screamed as soon as he touched her wounds and only when Mylessa held her did she cease her movements.

Rhaego decided to check into the girl's tent and see how she was doing yet as he approached he heard the soft sounds of a woman sobbing. Peaking inside he caught sight of Mylessa, sitting by the sleeping child's side, tears streaming down from her vibrant blue eyes. _She looks young,_ he suddenly realised. It was easy to look at the priestess with her ominous prayers and piercing gaze and overlook how young she really was. If the Khal had to guess he would say she was even younger than him and now that he saw her in a moment of utter vulnerability he wanted to go to her.

As if sensing his gaze she looked up suddenly and began wiping away at her face. "Forgive me my prince, I…"

"There is nothing to forgive," said Rhaego as he knelt down beside her. "What we saw today was enough to make even the most hardened of warriors squeamish."

"_Slavers_," Mylessa whispered.

Rhaego nodded sadly. "Gerion thinks they're headed back to Yunkai or Meereen or one of those cursed places."

They were silent for a time, watching the rise and fall of the little girl's chest. He wondered if the child would ever move past today or if the Slavers had permanently burnt themselves into her young soul. He did not wish that sort of life on anyone and silently prayed to the Great Stallion and Mylessa's red god that the child would be too young to remember it.

"I was no older than this child when they sold me," said Mylessa quietly, her eyes never leaving the girl. "My mother was a foreigner seeking refuge when she arrived in Asshai, she did not speak the language nor did she have much coin. My earliest memories are of me and her huddling together in the streets for warmth."

Rhaego brought his purple eyes on her. "Where was your father?"

Mylessa's mouth went into a thin line. "He died before I was born, though my mother told me he was a king who was killed by his own men in some war against the Lions of Westeros. It was only the two of us, and on the streets of Asshai two mouths can be difficult to feed." The faintest of smiles came upon her face. "We used to go and sit at the Red Temple and watch the Nightfires, the flames were so big and _warm_, warmer than you'd ever believe. When…..when she died I had nothing, and it wasn't long before one of the men caught me." Tears found their way back down her cheeks again. "I was…lot number five. No name, just a damned number. It was only by the mercy of R'hllor that I found my way into his temple instead of a brothel."

The Khal took the woman's delicate hand within his own and gave it a gentle squeeze. When he looked at her he could feel the fire return in his chest and for a moment he felt like a dragon. "I promise you, we will not let them take any more children. By fire and by blood I promise."

Mylessa looked at him for a moment, uncertainty on her face before leaning over and bringing her lips to his own. She tasted of spice and heat, and in that moment the blind flood of the Khal's desire swept all other thoughts away as the two lonely souls met.


	11. Discord

**Disclaimer: I own nothing**

**A/N: As always, thank you everyone who left a review, it keeps me inspired.**

A horse whickered impatiently behind him, from amidst the ranks of his Khalasar drawn up outside of the small settlement that was home to Khal Zogo. Rhaego could hear little Jhezabel talking animatedly to Mylessa from atop her horse. The little girl's wounds had healed and she was remarkably forward and active despite all that she had gone through. She was also practically attached to the fire priestess and followed her about everywhere, even taking up chanting with the woman during her nightfires.

_I should not have brought her here,_ he reflected as he sat waiting, _but where else would she go?_ The child had spent her entire life in that village and after the slavers had decimated it her world had been robbed. Rhaego could be brutal when he needed to, be such needless cruelty wouldn't feel right. _Like it or not, we are the only ones she has._

He could see a long dusty column emerge from the small encampment as riders approached. The sight of them made him anxious and he griped the cold steel of his long axe. "How many men can you count?" he asked Gerion.

The exiled Lannister shaded his eyes. "More than twenty…probably closer to fifty."

Rhaego cursed. "Fifty men, perhaps more and I can still spot others inside that encampment of theirs." His Khalasar had more men, but the two forces would be even enough in combat to make him feel uneasy.

The waiting was intolerable. "Men forward," he snapped. "We'll meet them." He gave a brief look at Mylessa and kicked his horse. Gerion and the others followed. When Zogo's men saw them coming, they spurred their own mounts. From their saddles hung arakhs, large and bloodstained from recent battle as well as many curved bows.

The riders all seemed well seasoned in the ways of combat and Rhaego knew that if he was not careful they would likely take down more than their fair share of his Khalasar. Their leader forked a stallion black as night with a mane and tail the colour of ash. He sat his saddle as if he had been born there, tall, broad, and graceful. His leather vest hung open and revealed a copper chest that was littered with crisscrossing scars that looked large and angry. The large moustache that hung down his face was dark and speckled with grey, as was the long braid that moved about in the wind, chiming as it did. The skin about his eyes and cheeks was lined and eroded from age and bags hung below his almond eyes.

_Khal Zogo, feared amongst even the deadliest of killers,_ Rhaego thought as he reined up,_ this man could carve out my heart and eat it if he so wished._ He kept his concerns hidden deep in his mind and kept his face a blank mask. "Khal Zogo," he greeted with a nod. "I am Rhaego, son of Drogo. My Khalasar has desire to cross into the great grass sea, I would rather continue onwards without conflict."

The older man gave a wiry smile. "Your father would not have cowered so easily, tell me, why should I let your men pass? Mayhaps my riders have need of some good sport?"

Rhaego swallowed a groan. _Does he mean to provoke us?_ Mayhaps he wanted to test his strength, though many of his own men would surely die in the conflict. _Not to mention just as many of my own._ No matter which way Rhaego looked at it he couldn't see either side winning. "I have business east, I have no quarrel with you….let us pass."

Zogo snorted. "Do you have anything to pay tribute? I see a woman in your ranks, a girl child as well. My men could always use more attendants."

"You can't have them," he growled through clenched teeth. The familiar burning rage was boiling in his stomach again and logic began to leave him. More than anything he wanted to break the man in two.

"Well what if I was to kill you and claim them anyway?"

Rhaego took a breath and narrowed his purple eyes on the other Khal. The cogs of the Dragonspawn's mind were slow to get started but once they gained traction they worked well, an idea came upon him then. "I have heard many great stories about you Zogo, men say you are the fiercest Khal to ride the Great Grass Sea, save for my father of course."

He could see a flicker of rage cross the older man's copper face then. "I could have carved your father down to size, and I'll gladly do the same to you."

"Then prove it, face me. One on one."

Zogo laughed. "Boy. I will eat your heart." The two men were of a height, but Zogo was at least twenty years older. He pointed over to a clearing just outside his camp. "There, I'll spill your blood there with my men watching."

Rhaego gave the man a nod and wheeled his horse about to face his Khalasar. "Stand back and let me handle this," he commanded of them before turning to Gerion in a quieter tone. "If things go sideways then you are to take Lady Mylessa and the child and leave, is that understood?"

The Lannister gave him a solemn nod. "Aye,"

He turned back to Zogo and forced a smile. "Lead the way," and so the man did, riding ahead as if he couldn't wait to begin. Once they arrived at the small clearing Zogo's men gathered around to watch, as did Rhaego's bloodriders who all stood about, gripping their arakhs, ready to attack at the moment's notice.

Rhaego dismounted his red stallion and handed over the reins to Jakerhro. When Zogo saw this he laughed like a madman. "You plan to fight me by yourself?" he asked with a chuckle, "You _are_ a fool! I'll enjoy riding you down."

The young Khal merely gripped the shaft of his long axe and got in postion. Zogo's stallion tossed his head impatiently and pawed the dirt. With a charge the Dothraki set off, dust flying from the hooves of his black stallion. Zogo thundered towards Rhaego, his arakh raised to strike. The young Khal knew that his opponent would seek to ride him down, a fact he was counting on. He waited until the horse was almost on him and jumped to the side, using the flat of his axe to bloke against the arakh that came slashing down at him from the side.

Zogo brought the horse around Rhaego in a wide circle, then dug in with his spurs and charged again and spun his arakh sideways at the last second to catch Rhaego when he dodged. But the young Khal had guessed that was what the man would do and dropped low, away from the blade before spinning his axe around in an arc. He could hear the stallion scream as the blade bit into its legs and said a silent prayer. Zogo managed to leap from his steed before it went down and held his own blade up, ready to fight.

"I'll kill you for that mongrel!"

"Come try it," said Rhaego. Zogo did.

The other Khal was fast, blazing fast, as quick as any of the younger men that Rhaego had ever fought. In his hands the arakh became a whistling blur, a barrage of attacks that seemed to strike at Rhaego from all sides at once. He blocked the blows with the flat of his axe, the blade meeting each slash and turning them aside. On one of the deflections Zogo used the momentum to turn his blade and slashed through Rhaego's vest and near his shoulder blades. It felt as though someone had slapped him hard on the back.

At that point he felt his rage overcome him then and he answered Zogo's attack with a sidearm blow of his axe. Zogo had kept his blade up just in time to stop the long axe from cleaving his arm from its shoulder, but the strain became visible on his face as he fought to press the blade away. Through gritted teeth Rhaego almost smiled and brought his axe up before slamming it down onto the other man's blade, this time the young Khal forced his entire weight into the blow and pressed downwards. Zogo may have been strong for his age but he had no endurance that Rhaego's youth granted him and was soon on a knee with both hands trying desperately to hold up the arakh. With a surprised grunt the old Khal lost his grip and Rhaego used it to smash his blade down into the man's shoulder, almost cleaving his body in half. When he jerked his axehead free a fountain of blood came out and the corpse fell forward, up against his legs. _So now you ask for mercy?_ Rhaego thought as he gripped the man's braid and began hacking at the neck.

Once the head was separated from the body he held it up to Zogo's Khalasar, so that all of them could look upon their Khal's defeat. In the corner of his vision he saw Zogo's bloodriders approach him, weapons raised, but Jakerhro and Gerion were already upon them, cutting them down to size. Behind him his men hooted and screamed while Zogo's Khalasar fell deathly silent as Rhaego tossed aside the head of his enemy. Gerion and a few of his bloodriders dropped Zogo's fallen Kos unceremoniously on the ground and took their place beside Rhaego as he stared at the Dothraki standing opposite him.

Finally a man knelt and uttered something, and with that came many others until the entire Khalasar fell to their knees, all of them declaring him blood of their blood. Rhaego almost smiled at the sight. With Zogo's Khalasar absorbed into his own he had almost two hundred men, still small compared to that of his father's or Khal Mago's but enough to give his enemies pause at least.

After he had seen that the new members of his horde were taken in without conflict he returned to his tent with a horn of mare's milk, however he was not alone for two minutes before Lady Mylessa burst in, a curious look on her face. "You've been wounded," she said. The slash on his back had been irritating him some, but the young Khal hadn't dwelt on the pain in the aftermath of the battle. Mylessa carefully went over and inspected the wound, gently touching at the slash and bringing her hand back with red on her fingertips. "This needs to be cleaned and sown, do you have any wine?"

"There should be a cask over there," he gestured vaguely to the corner of his tent.

A moment later she returned with the wine and went about pouring it into in a silver basin, once that was done she dropped a handful of some powdery substance into the liquid which caused it to bubble up and boil. "An accelerate substance from Asshai, it will heat the wine," she explained. Once the small basin was well and truly steaming Mylessa scooped up a small amount with an empty horn and stood. "Lean forwards, this is going to hurt."

Rhaego did not care; the only constant of life was the certainty of pain. He welcomed it and barely grunted as his red priestess went about pouring the scolding liquid into his bloodied wound. After she was happy that his wound was cleaned she dipped needle and thread into the boiling wine before sitting behind him and slowly stitching up his angry scar.

As Mylessa went about her work an awkward silence fell upon the tent. They had barely spoken since that night in the tent and when they did it was often short and dutiful. _We were both being foolish,_ he tried to tell himself,_ such a thing was merely a moment of weakness._ Though he could not deny how right it felt kissing her like that. It was different from the other women he had known, there was little in the way of romance in the Dothraki culture, only pure desire and the fulfilment of that desire. _Do you desire her as bedwarmer or as something else?_ He was afraid of the answer.

Finally he forced himself to speak. "About the other night, I was being forward….if I upset you, I apologise."

Her head bowed, and her voice was much quieter than before when she replied, "There's nothing to apologise for, I just…it's not often that I let people get close…."

Rhaego turned to face her properly then, and set his purple eyes on her blue. "I won't get close like that again, unless you wish it."

Mylessa's eyes seemed to search his and he realized that she must be wondering the same thing as he was; _will there be a second time, or a third?_ The fire priestess opened her mouth to speak when the flap of Rhaego's tent was opened.

"My lady, some of the Bloodriders asked for you." Jhezabel looked out of breath as she stood at the entrance of the tent and her little brown eyes widened when she saw Rhaego. "Forgive me Khal, I shall come back."

"No, Lady Mylessa is done here," he said as he quickly rose to his feet, "I can bandage myself up."

Mylessa looked at Rhaego for a moment, giving the smallest of smiles before leaving with her little assistant. It was only once he was alone that Rhaego allowed himself to smile back.

* * *

The sight of the journeymen almost made gape in shock. Almost.

They had been travelling for over a week now and seen little and less, but on that particular morning Rhaego's riders came back with news of a horde travelling down one of the Valyrian demon roads. At first he assumed they meant another Khalasar but when they said it was full of men travelling on foot he knew something odd was going on. He could scarcely believe it himself until he finally laid eyes on the mass of refugees hurrying down the old and cursed roads. Wayns were lined up along the roadside, loaded with casks of cider, barrels of apples, bales of hay, and some fruits Rhaego had never seen before. Almost every wagon had its guards; some were sellswords in mail and boiled leather while more often than not it was only a peasant farmers and their sons clutching at homemade spears with fire hardened points. Flocks of goats and sheep trailed along as well, tied to some of the wagons. What intrigued Rhaego the most was the large amount of red priests that moved amongst them.

"We ought to speak with them my prince," Mylessa had said when she spotted them. "Something of grave importance must be driving these men from Volantis and onto the old roads. My brothers would not be joining them in such numbers for a small matter."

And so he had relented, taking the priestess, Gerion and a dozen bloodriders down to speak with the flock. He ordered Gerion to announce to them in High Valyrian that he meant them no harm, though several men-at-arms still formed up to block him from getting close to the weak and infirm, his people's reputation proceeding him. One of the Red priests spotted Mylessa with them and wandered over, ignoring protests from several guards.

"Valar Morghulis," he said.

"Valar Dohaeris," answered Mylessa before giving the man an enigmatic smile. "Might I ask what you and the other members of our order are doing traveling down here with an army of peasants?"

The red priest gave her a joyous expression and raised his hands into the sky. "R'hllor smiles on us all, he has chosen his saviour and champion and given the world back its fire!"

Rhaego had no time for the man's ravings and growled down at him, "Speak sense, what champion?"

The priest's grin did not falter. "Why, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, Khaleesi of Great Grass sea and Mother to the first three dragons the world has known in centuries."


	12. Guilt and Intimacy

**A/N: As always, thank you everyone who left a review, they're the lifeblood of this fic.**

At first Rhaego had immediately assumed that the man was a liar, but the mass of pilgrims heading towards Pentos told him otherwise.

He had called his bloodriders back and ordered his Khalasar to make camp for the night while he and the red priestess and Gerion stood before a nightfire, waiting for Mylessa to find an answer in the flames. While Rhaego and his Lannister companion could only see the dancing flames, their priestess stood transfixed on the orange glow, her face changing from wonder, to shock and even horror. For a long time she merely watched the flames with a blank gaze before Rhaego roughly shook her.

"What did you see?" he demanded, "Was it my mother?"

Mylessa nodded absently. "I saw your mother," something dark came over her then and she seemed to wince at some unseen force. "And the dragons, it is true, they exist and suckle at your mother's breast as fire consumes everything around them. Queen Daenerys' enemies are everywhere, we must go to Pentos.

_Nothing could stop me,_ he thought with a growl. Of course he was going to travel to Pentos; it was his mother that was in danger, the only family he had left. _There's also this business with the Dragons_, he reminded himself. He had seen a vision in the House of the Undying, of his mother with a red dragon on her shoulder, were his visions coming true?

The young Khal turned to one of his bloodriders and ordered him to tell the Khalasar that they would be riding for Pentos at first light. After that was seen to he turned his attention back to the red woman. "What else has your god shown you? You mentioned enemies, who are they?"

"I know not my prince, the lord of light only showed me but glimpse of the danger, knives in the dark." She responded quietly.

Rhaego frowned at that. "Can't you look again?"

Mylessa seemed to bristle at that and her mouth became a thin red line. "I cannot simply pick and choose what I am shown; I am not a dancing bear trained to perform tricks."

Rhaego wasn't sure what he had done wrong beside ask her a question but was in no mood to continue the discussion and stormed back to his tent, he was not halfway before he heard Gerion running up to meet him. "What do you plan on doing when we get to Pentos?"

"I plan on finding my mother and getting her away from these greedy cheesemongers," replied the Khal with a grim tone.

"You forget yourself Rhaego," he admonished. "The Khalasar is bigger than before, we can't simply go straight through the city and expect them to let us march directly to Magister Illyrio's manse, we need a different approach."

Rhaego looked at the Lannister carefully, "what do you propose?"

A grin spread itself across the man's golden features and his emerald eyes gleamed with excitement, "Let _me_ go in with some of your bloodriders, we can sneak her in and out with no one the wiser, trust me, stealth is the key here."

"Aye, you might be right. We'll discuss this on the morrow." He noticed that the Lannister looked as if he wanted to say something more, finally Rhaego snapped. "Anything else?"

Gerion gave a weary sigh. "Your priestess, I swear she's a Tully."

The Khal gave a shrug. "That name means nothing out here, and if you must know she told me that her father was some rebellious lord who died in the Riverlands, most likely she's a bastard. It makes no difference who sired her, her allegiance is to me."

The last son of Tytos Lannister shook his head at that. "No, her allegiance is to that fire god. No matter what she says or does you had best remember that."

When Rhaego finally returned to the quiet solitude of his tent, he was deeply troubled. Between the news of his mother and the dragons, as well as his conflicting thoughts on the Red woman, Rhaego felt lost. _It is as if I have been thrown out to sea,_ he thought bitterly, _despite how hard I swim the tide always keeps me back._

He collapsed onto his furs and stared up at the roof of his tent, his thoughts drifting. _Dragons sucking at her breast while fire consumes all,_ the way Mylessa had said it was as if she was afraid, but Rhaego could not imagine someone as gentle and kind as his lady mother being able to frighten a servant of a fire god. _It has been years since you saw her;_ an annoying voice in the back of his head reminded him. _She may be a completely different person by now._

Memories came back unbidden then, of the last time he had spoken with his mother. He had been no more than fourteen years of age when he first told her of his plan. As he closed his eyes he could still see the look of outrage and shock on his mother's dainty face.

_"I have to go!" he shouted, his voice raising uncontrollably as he felt the bubbling anger course through him. "Magister Illyrio told me that they were a gift to you, a symbol of House Targaryen!"_

_Daenerys had frowned at her son, who already a foot stood taller than she. "They were gems, nothing more Rhaego." She said trying to cool her son's temper. "Do you think that I am so shallow that I still care more about them than I do for you?"_

_Rhaego had bristled at that, hearing an insult behind the plead. "You think I can't do it! I'm not a child anymore!"_

_"Yes you are!" shouted Daenerys, suddenly caught up in her own anger and frustration. "You're MY child!"_

_"You told me that uncle Viserys had to sell Grandmother's crown to feed you," he said without thinking, "You said that he became mad and cruel and sad because he had to give them up, what's to stop that from happening to you? I've heard the servants talking; they say that madness is in the blood!" _

_As soon as he said it Rhaego immediately regretted his words. The look of hurt and betrayal on his mother's face cooled his rage and almost made him want to go to her but something deeper in his heart told him that he had to continue on. And so he had, without another word he gathered his things and left Pentos behind him, not once looking back._

"What do you think they look like?"

"What?"

"The dragons," Gerion explained. "Of course I've read all there is to know about the creatures, studied every account written about the Targaryen dragons and seen their skulls at King's Landing, but seeing a live one…" the Lannister's face was full of awe. "That would be a true sight to behold….a _miracle."_

Rhaego gave a nod but continued to look forwards as he led his Khalasar west to Pentos. They had been moving at a steady pace, making good ground. He found that he had to temper his expectations of the speed of his horde's travel, ever since he took on Zogo's men he had taken on women, slaves and the infirm. There had not been any children in his new Khalasar, a fact he had been thankful for. _There is the girl,_ he reminded himself as he gave a brief glance over to the child riding near Mylessa.

The red woman seemed to have felt his presence and looked up at him. Rhaego tried to discern what she was thinking but was only met with an enigmatic smile. "How do you think she did it?" asked Gerion, cutting through Rhaego's thoughts.

"Do I look like a Maester?" he said with a hint of irritation in his voice. "You'd be better served by directing your questions to our priestess."

On cue the woman rode up to Rhaego's left and tilted her head towards the Lannister. "Queen Daenerys no doubt used blood magic for this thing," she said casually, "The high priests in Asshai can do much and more with those arts."

Gerion snorted. "My lady, I've been from the Wall all the way to Valyria and never in my travels have I ever seen a man hatch a dragon from dead stone, blood magic or not this is a sign that the world is changing."

"And the servants of light have always said so," replied Mylessa petulantly. "These things were foretold long ago by our prophets, telling everyone who would hear the truth of things, yet it is men like you who would deny your own hearts."

Gerion gave the woman a withering look. "Don't lecture me on ignorance-"

_"Quiet!"_ roared the Khal, silencing the two. "I'll not have you argue theology all the way to Pentos." He eyed off the land around them as it was bathed in the orange light of the setting sun, with the occasional rock formations that littered about it provided a level of natural defence and he decided that it would make for a decent place to set up camp.

He brought his stallion to a halt. "We'll stop here for tonight," he announced. "But get as much rest as you can; we leave early on the morrow."

The remainder of the day was spent setting up camp and feasting; Rhaego's people seemed to enjoy the respite and a relaxed mood set across the Khalasar. It was moments like this that made Rhaego feel content and allowed him to enjoy the absolute freedom that his life had granted him. Suddenly he felt something tugging at his leather pants and when he looked down he saw Jhezabel looking up at him expectantly. "Lady Mylessa wants to see you Khal." she said, not a single hint of fear about her.

Rhaego could only smile down at the child. "Very well, lead on."

The little girl grabbed hold of the Khal's hand and took him over to Mylessa's tent, inside the woman was busy lighting candles around the room and when he laid eyes on her he lost his breath. Mylessa wore a gown of red silk so sheer and fine that the candles shone right through it to reveal a vivid picture of her finely formed body.

When she spotted them she smiled and waved the child away and went over to pour Rhaego and herself some wine. The wine, much like everything else in the tent, was red. The Khal couldn't help but drink in the sight of her as she sauntered over to him, her hips moving in an almost hypnotic fashion._ What have I walked into here?_ he wondered as he accepted the wine cup from her.

"You look…." He tried, only to be at a loss for words.

Mylessa smiled. "I look…."

_"Beautiful,"_ he breathed. "You look beautiful, though I'm wondering what's the cause of all this?"

She locked eyes with him then, and he thought he saw something flickering inside the beautiful blue spheres, something vulnerable, and something…_human. _Was she uncertain? Was she afraid? Rhaego got the impression that while his red priestess liked to hide behind her piety and confident personality; she was as conflicted and anxious as he was. It was a comforting thought.

Her eyes seemed to notice his scrutiny and suddenly they became downcast, she bit down on her bottom lip for a moment before forcing herself to look up at him. "You once told me that you wouldn't touch me unless I asked you…well, now I'm asking."

That was all the invitation Rhaego needed. Gently he took hold of her hips and bent his head down so that their faces were almost touching before he pressed his lips to hers in a soft, yet passionate kiss. Her lips were soft and tasted of something that was at once spicy and sweet, something that stirred a hunger from deep inside.

His fingers travelled from her hips and moved up her sides, before softly running along the underside of her breasts. When he stroked her nipples through her gown she let out moan, and he began to slowly kiss down her neck, her collarbones, and smiled inwardly when he felt her shiver.

An almost animalist grin came over him as he slowly unlaced the top of her gown and shrugging her out of it. He caught sight of her blushing when her breasts were bared and for a moment he thought she would cover herself. The action caused him to stop for a moment. "If I'm going too fast, please tell me."

A tiny smile came across her face then and she took a step forward, closing the gap between them and pressing herself against him. She took a hold of his long silver mane as she kissed him fervently, her tongue tracing along his mouth. He drew back, wanting to drink in the sight of her, he almost wanted to say something, some words of comfort and romance but Mylessa grew impatient and pulled him into another deep kiss.

Somewhere along the way they freed themselves of their clothes and fell backwards on the bed, with Mylessa straddling his lap. Rhaego laid his hands on her thighs, gripping them gently as he felt her lower herself down on his manhood; he let out a groan as the warm tightness squeezed at him. Slowly but surely they found themselves in a rhythm as they thrust and into each other, all the while exploring each other's body with kisses. Her fingers began to tighten their hold of his hair and began to move all the more fervently, while he adjusted the angle of his hips causing her to shudder against him and grip him tighter between her thighs, he knew he was close and so was she.

And like a bolt of lightning her back arched sharply and she threw her head back while she laid her hands upon his chest, the tightness between them intensifying as she came. A moment later he felt himself spill his seed inside her.

They lay together for a long time afterwards, breathing heavily. Their eyes traced each other's spent forms, and occasionally their eyes would meet, purple and blue, and a smile would set upon their lips.

In that moment Rhaego felt himself free of the world and its troubles, in that moment dragons and prophecies did not matter, the two lovers were the only ones in the world during that moment.


End file.
